Fructus Arboris Venenato
by winniethewriter
Summary: Takes place before the events of CoB. In the war between Valentine and the Clave, Valentine wins. Complete Summary inside.
1. Abduction

FRUCTUS ARBORIS VENENATO

Fruit of the poisoned tree

RATED M / VIOLENCE, ADULT LANGUAGE, SEXUAL SITUATIONS, AND PROMINENT INCEST / JONATHAN AND CLARY FANFICTION

COMPLETE SUMMARY - Takes place before the events of City of Bones. Clary never met Jace, therefore never found out about the shadow world. In the war between Valentine and the Clave, Valentine wins, and with a demon army at his command and all of the Mortal Instruments at hand, every shadowhunter must succumb to his will or be executed. The Circle is once more, and in a world of war, it's kill or be killed. Clary is thrust into the shadow world as she and her mother are abducted by her father, self proclaimed King of Idris and are taken to their home country by force. Taken from the only home she had ever known, Clary grows to despise her father.. and her brother. But perhaps over time, she'll grow to love her newfound family... or not.

*For the intents and purposes of this story, the Gard will be more of a palace than a meeting hall*

* * *

CHAPTER ONE - ABDUCTION

Clary knew from the moment she got home that something was wrong. The front door was completely torn off its hinges, pathetically lying on the floor of the family room. Nearly every piece of furniture was moved out of its place, the books on the shelves were littered on the wooden floor, the canvases with her mother's paintings were ripped and torn apart, shattered remains of vases and glass and mirrors lying haphazardly on the floor. Angry tears formed in her eyes. A break in.

"Mom?" She spoke hesitantly, her voice barely a whisper as she made her way through their tiny abode, careful not to step on any sharp shards. The kitchen was in similar conditions as the living room, pots and pans scattered across the linoleum. Suddenly, a hand covered her mouth and a large arm enclosed her, her arms trapped, leaving her defenseless against her attacker. Clary thrashed and kicked, but all her attempts of escape were futile as she was dragged away into her mother's room. Her screams were muffled by the hand, and she knew no one would come to her rescue. Upon entering the room, she noticed her mother was bound by a thick rope, duct tape covering her mouth, her gaze frantic as she watched Clary brought in. Also in the room, a man covered in black clothing and strange tattoos held bindings in his hands. He came up to her and helped her captor tie her and gag her so she wouldn't scream, letting her sit on the floor next to her mother. For robbers and possible killing rapists, they were surprisingly gentle and careful as they tied her and set her down. Clary looked at her mother for answers, but found none; only a strange courage she had never seen in her mother's eyes before.

"We were given strict orders not to hurt either of you, but to bring you by any means necessary. It'd be in your best interest to come with us willingly." Her captor said, and only then did she notice that he wore the same dark clothing and had the same tattoos that the other did. Jocelyn nodded, but made a motion indicating she wanted the tape on her mouth gone. Their captors looked at each other, pondering whether it would be a wise idea or not to let her speak. A few moments of silent conversation passed, and one of them moved forward to remove the tape from her mouth. Clary watched as her mother calmly licked her lips before speaking.

"Who has sent you?" She asked, her voice steady as she faced the men.

"Valentine."

The color from Jocelyn's face drained, "But he's been dead for sixteen years."

The man shook his head, "Valentine Morgenstern is very much alive, and has acquired each of the Mortal Instruments. He took down the Clave, killed each of its members and everyone else who opposed of him. He's made it his mission to purify the Blood, and rid the world of demons and downworlders. But you aren't a fool to his plans, Jocelyn Morgenstern. You knew this would happen, one way or another, sixteen years ago or now. You were only foolish to believe he was dead in the first place."

Clary and her mother were taken to what Clary could only describe as a time warp - a blue rippling thing that was reminiscent of water. The men, on either side of them, had them held by their upper arms as they all walked into the time warp. For a moment, Clary felt weightless- and then it was gone. The smell of blood and decay hit her hard, and she opened her eyes to a morbid sight. All around her, there were people on the streets cleaning. Scrubbing the pavement, washing away ash, or dragging away human corpses to pile at the very center of the street. If there hadn't been duct tape covering her mouth, she would've wretched. The smell was overwhelming, and worse was the scene. She was pushed, herded along with her mother and forced to walk on, staring at the people who stopped their work to watch them pass by, defeat written over their face and pity as they saw them tied and hauled forward. Whispers began, but Clary only caught a few words of it. Morgenstern women, Jocelyn and Valentine's wife and daughter being the most prominent. Clary glared accusingly at her mother, who knew what was going on and didn't even bother to tell her why this was happening. If what the men said and the whispers of the people were true, her mother was wife of this man named Valentine, and she was his daughter. The thought was ridiculous, because her father had died in battle long ago and her mother never remarried, and to Clary's knowledge the only man she had ever married was her father. Jocelyn ignores Clary's glares, and addressed their captors.

"Where are you taking us?" demanded Jocelyn, turning her head slightly to give the men a glare of her own.

"To the Gard, Valentine's current residence since the war. You and your daughter will be living there from now and Jonathan will be pleased to have the both of you home."

Jocelyn paled, and for the first time since their abduction, genuinely looked afraid. "Jonathan?" Her voice shook.

"Aren't you excited to see your son again? He's grown into quite the young man, and looks just like his father."

Her mother did not respond, and Clary has had just about enough. She twists out of her captor's grasp, her foot coming up to kick his shins. But just as soon as it began, it ended as he grabbed a hold of her again and squeezed her tightly enough to bruise her. She silently screamed under the tape, a thousand questions running through her head, questions that no one would answer. Her mother shouted profanities, but they fell on deaf ears as he grabbed Clary by the hair and pulled at it roughly, his breath was hot against her ear as he sneered, "Next time you try to escape, I'll do worse than that, girl."

For the second time today, tears formed in her eyes, only this time she let them fall.

After a few minutes of walking, they reached the center of the city where a tall structure resembling a castle stood proudly. Clary and Jocelyn were pushed not too gently up the stone stairs leading to the grand entrance. The entrance was too large for a door- instead, there was a marble angel on either side of it, crossing their swords at the center. The foyer itself, however, was a disaster. Banners that once hung proudly were torn from its place, the once white walls covered in ash. The floors were slippery with blood, and a large crystal chandelier that had fallen from its place hanging from the ceiling at the center of it all, thousands of shattered glass crystals littering nearly every inch of the floor. There were more people cleaning up here; using brooms for the glass, mops for the blood, and paint for the ash. Clary had never felt more disoriented in her life. In just an hour, she was abducted from her home and realized that her mother never told her any of this shadow crap, or Valentine Morgenstern, or the Mortal Instruments. Even in their current situation, Clary couldn't help but feel betrayed over her mother keeping this from her. She wondered whether or not they'll ever return home. Would Simon realize they were kidnapped and call the police? But what good would the police do against these dangerous people? Clary shook her head as if to clear her thoughts. She didn't want Simon involved in this. If this was her fate, so be it.

They enter a particularly large throne room, complete with ornate walls and polished marble floors; the only room in the Gard that was in a much better condition than the rest of it. On the throne at the very end of the room, sits the man she assumes is Valentine himself, with a younger version of himself standing at his side. Jocelyn doesn't take his eyes off of the young Valentine, and Clary gathers that it is Jonathan, Valentine's son. Both have nearly similar features: white blond hair, prominent cheekbones and lean, muscular structures. Clary found that their only difference was Jonathan's hollow onyx eyes. He catches her staring, and smirks at her. She quickly looks away, trying to convince herself that did not just happen. As Valentine watches them enter, he stands, a grin settling upon his face. He raises his arms as if he were to embrace them, and said:

"My wife.. My daughter."

Clary waits for her mother to deny it. She doesn't. All her life, she has known that her father was a deceased soldier who had died a couple of months after she was born. Now, not only to find that the man she had grown up to believe her father wasn't, but to find that her father was very much alive - and very much evil.

"I thought you were dead."

"I thought you loved me," he retorted, the smile now gone from his face, a grimace in its place. "You left me. You betrayed me."

Jocelyn's response was a whisper. "You left me no choice."

"You could've stayed!" He shouted, walking towards them. "You could've stayed, but you didn't!" He grabbed Jocelyn by the chin, forcing her to look up at him. "Instead, you went off with the downworlder." He spat the word, as if it was a curse. Then, his face softened, his hand at Jocelyn's chin suddenly gentle. "Why didn't you stay?"

Clary watched a tear roll down her mother's cheek as she whispered, "You changed."

Valentine wiped away his wife's tear, lovingly, shaking his head. "None of it matters now. You're here, and that's all that matters."

Jocelyn's eyes harden, moving away her face from his grasp. "We are not staying."

Valentine smiles cruelly. "You have no choice in the matter, carissime."

He then shifted his attention to Clary, placing a hand on her shoulder. Clary flinches away, but his hold is hard and unrelenting. He ignores Jocelyn's protest, gently peeling off the tape from Clary's mouth. His touch is soft as he takes in her appearance, her skin, her eyes, her hair. His gaze is intimidating and she looks anywhere but his eyes. "My daughter.. we finally meet."

Him addressing her as his daughter made the situation all too real, and she felt a pang of betrayal in her heart over her mother's lies.

"What is your name?"

"Clarissa Adele Fray."

"Well.." His fingers found her chin just like he had her mother's, "You are Clarissa Adele Morgenstern now. I am your father, Valentine Morgenstern, and this is your new home. You and your mother will stay here with me and Jonathan, your brother, and we will be a family. Do you understand?"

She hesitantly nodded, shamelessly fearing his wrath had she told him otherwise.

Valentine smiled pleasantly. "Good."

Jocelyn spoke up. "If you think we are staying here, you really must be out of your mind." Clary watched as Valentine's face contorted from contentment to anger. His nostril flared as he turned to her mother and slapped her with the back of his hand with enough force to knock her to the ground. Clary slightly whimpered as she watched her mother fall, a searing hatred beginning to settle inside her over the man who claimed to be her father.

"You will learn that it is not wise to go against me. Do not forget I am the same man who dismembered the Clave and killed all of those who got in my way. Do not defy me, or you will not be safe off the consequences. I am confident that you will come to see it my way again some day." He gestured to the captors - Clary hadn't noticed they were still around - to take them. "Take them to their designated rooms."

Clary watched as one man hauled her mother to her feet, pushing her forward to the hall on the right. There were two halls, one on either side of the room. The other man pushed Clary to the hall on the left, and she looked back to spare one last glance at her mother. Clary didn't know how or when, but she would get them both out of this. She swore it.

* * *

Author's note: This chapter was pretty boring, but necessary. I tried to describe Alicante as best as I could but to be honest, I rushed through City of Glass and cared more about the dialogue than the actual scenery. Jonathan/Clary interaction will come in the next few chapters. Reviews are welcomed and so is constructive criticism, but if you're just going to bitch about how much you don't like Jonathan and Clary as a ship, don't bother. Other than that, the more you review, the more I write. :P Let me know if I need to clear up anything, though I'll be explaining the war and everything in the next chapter.


	2. Seven Days and Seven Nights

CHAPTER 2 - SEVEN DAYS AND SEVEN NIGHTS

The room she was taken to was spacious and luxuriously decorated, complete with a King sized bed big enough to sleep four people comfortably. There were two doors on either side of it, one to a ridiculously large bathroom with a separate shower and bathtub, and thankfully, a toilet for her basic human needs. The other door led to an even larger room, a closet filled with clothes and shoes in her size. Clary grimaced, wondering how Valentine had gotten a hold of her measurements, but hadn't even known her name. She assumed that he had asked to be polite, but Clary knew there was nothing polite or even remotely sane about the man named Valentine. The look in his eyes when her mother defied him was frightening and unsettled her, promising herself to never anger the man who ordered their abduction. Clary was still not completely sure what was going on, and did not understand half of the things that were said. She couldn't help but hope that this was all a bad dream, and she would wake up in her bed back in New York. She thought about Simon and Luke. What would they do when they realized both her and her mother were gone? Would they look for them? Call the police? But what good would they do against a mad tyrant with a demon army? Demons. Monsters. All the stories were true.

She didn't believe it at first. It had been said, but it was difficult to believe in something you had been told all your life was not real. It was only when she actually saw them - the demons. They were there, outside of her window. Clary noticed that before the sun set, the people would scurry into their homes and deadbolt their doors. At the rise of the moon, demons flooded the streets, killing anyone unlucky enough to have been caught by the night. Demons of all shapes and sizes, disgustingly grotesque and mutilated, or surprisingly beautiful and deadly. Clary had begun to resent her mother from keeping this world of evil from her, but honestly couldn't blame her for trying. She could've lived her whole life and not know of any of it, and she would've been happy. But now knowing Valentine, she knew he would have eventually found them.

When she was first put in the room, Clary tried to look for any means of escape. Both the window and the door were locked. The only time her door opened was the bring her regular meals, and to take the plates away when she was done. For the past seven days and seven nights, she was sealed away in the room, not knowing when or if she would ever be let out. Her only company was a sketchbook with blank pages and pencils. Clary had found them on the desk in the room, a note attached to it that read: 'I hope my assumptions are correct that you are an artist just like your mother. - Father' Glaring at the word father, she crumpled up the note into a little ball and flushed it down the toilet in childish anger. She knew he was trying to get to her, trying to get her to love him. After the way he treated her mother, even if he was her father, she would never accept him into her life willingly. He was just as much of a monster as the ones outside her window, the monsters he controlled.

The days passed slowly. She made good use of the sketchbook, drawing several portraits of Simon and Luke, but mostly of her mother. Clary resembled her mother in her hair and her eyes, but she came to terms that she wasn't, and probably will never be as beautiful as her. Clary was small in stature and slim whereas she was tall and curvaceous. Her mother had long crimson waves, and she had carrot curls. Clary was often mistaken for younger than she is, and she didn't really have any other friends except for Simon. She and her mother didn't get along very well because Jocelyn tended to be overprotective, and now Clary finally understood the reason why. She had been trying to keep her away from all of this, and Clary found herself wishing that she had succeeded. She wanted her normal life back, she wanted to go to school and watch anime with Simon and sneak out to parties like a normal girl her age. But as her time wore on in this room, in this ancient castle, in this city of glass, she knew deep in her heart that her life would never be normal again.

* * *

On the eighth morning, a knock sounded on her door. The maid who brought her meals never knocked, so it had to be someone else. She hoped for her mother, that she had escaped and have come to find her so they would finally leave this place, but she knew better than to expect the best.

Bracing herself for her father or her brother, she stood from her place on the bed and sarcastically said, "I can't exactly open the door for you." And prayed there would be no retribution for her insolence.

The locked clicked and the knob turned, and behind the opening door was Valentine. She noticed he wore nearly the same clothing every day, the same hooded cloak that trailed behind him as he walked, the same heavy combat boots that strangely made no sound, and as always, dressed in black fully from head to toe. On his face, he wore a pleasant smile along with a bruise on his cheekbone that could only have been product of her mother's violence, the only person brave enough to stand up and defy Valentine Morgenstern.

He entered the room with a commanding presence; silently closing the door behind him, and walked around, inspecting the slight changes his daughter had made to her room. On the walls by her bed, she had taped drawings of Jocelyn and with slight irritation, he noticed drawings of the downworlder Lucian Graymark, as well as a boy Clarrisa's age that Valentine hoped was only a friend. It wouldn't be any good to have his daughter be in love with a mundane when the purity of the Blood was on the line. He had come to explain the shadow world to his daughter now that Jocelyn has proved to be impenetrable, he hoped that Clary would be more open to him. Jocelyn would eventually succumb one way or another, it was only a slight annoyance that she hasn't done so immediately. But Valentine knew that if he continued to keep Clary locked in a room, she would never grow to love him.

"Clarissa... I know you are confused, since you were raised as a mundane. It's time for you to know the truth."

Clary shrugged, torn between wanting to know and not having Valentine explain it to her. "I know about the demons and the shadowhunters, but it seems to me that there hasn't been any hunting lately." Unconsciously, she looked at the window, thinking about the demons she had seen every night. "Is it your doing?"

"Yes," he responded confidently, lightly touching a portrait of her mother, running his fingers down the drawn cheek. "We, shadowhunters, are half human, half angel. Our blood is that of the Angel Raziel, who created the first shadowhunter centuries ago. We were created for one sole purpose: to kill evil. Demons, mostly. But there are other evils, such as the downworlders. The deceptive fae, the blood thirsty vampires, the repulsive warlocks, and the monstrous werewolves. We were at war with them once, but then The Accords were put in place. The Accords were peace negotiations signed between the Downworlders and the Clave. The Accords acted as amendments to the Covenant agreed to be taken as the law of the land by all of the Shadow World, a treaty that ordained how Shadowhunters and Downworlders interacted with mundanes-those who are completely human-and one another, as well as each group's rights, responsibilities, and restrictions; stating that as long as the rules were not broken, they can live in peace without bother and may have provided each other help when the need ever rose.

"But even though we did keep our side of The Accords, the downworlders had not, because they are just as corrupt as the demons that spawned them. I have always known this since my younger years, and so did your mother, Lucian Graymark, and a few other of our familiars. I formed the Circle, I recruited our peers when we went to school here, in Alicante. The year The Accords were to be signed, we infiltrated the Gard, and tried to overthrow the Clave and kill the downworlders present. But your mother, who had been deceived by the turned downworlder Lucian Greymark, had already informed them of our plan, and even though we managed to rid the world of a few, some of our brothers were killed as well. Because of your mother's treachery, she left me no choice than to stage my death, as well as your brother Jonathan's, and we lived in exile until now. I succeeded in overthrowing the Clave with the Mortal Instruments, the instruments that were given to us by Raziel. The Forsaken you see are controlled by me, and no harm will come to those who stand by me. Eventually as time wears on, those who oppose of me will eventually come to terms that I am the authority now, and those who are against me will burn.

"You are my daughter, Clarissa. A shadowhunter. As such, you will begin training in the next few days. Jonathan will be your instructor, and he will teach you everything you need to know to survive. We have enemies, and now you are a target. You must learn how to protect yourself. Will you accept?"

As if he gave her much of a choice. Regardless, she saw the opportunity of freedom ahead, and nodded her head slowly, but surely, in agreement.

"I accept, father."

* * *

Author's Note: This pathetic excuse for a chapter took me an entire day to write. It wasn't as exciting as I wish it would've been, but it was necessary to explain what exactly happened. I hope everyone understands now. More details will come in to play when we go into Jonathan's POV which is (drumroll please) next chapter! If you liked it, review, if you didn't, review anyways! But remember I am a human being and I have sensitive feelings, lol. Reviews make me write faster, and considering the next chapter will be a doozy, I need all the motivation I can get. Until next time!


	3. A Garden Locked Is My Sister

CHAPTER THREE - A GARDEN LOCKED IS MY SISTER

* * *

Jonathan knew from a very young age that he was not a shadowhunter. Even as a child brought up as one, he was vicious and selfish and didn't particularly care for any life but his own and his father's. When spring came in Idris and the hares reproduced into the hundreds, he remembered catching them and would use a knife to cut an incision on its side to watch it bleed to death instead of mercifully snapping its neck. As time passed, his regard for his father's life had changed - he had grown to resent the man and everything he stood for. He was through going along with his father's pathetic obsession with the destruction of every downworlder and his hypocrisy of keeping the shadowhunter bloodline pure, considering the genetic alteration experiments he made on both his son and daughter. Jonathan planned on killing him soon, but at the right place and the right time, with the support of the right people. No, Jonathan was not a shadowhunter - He was a demon. The blood of Lillith was vigorous and overpowered his lineage enough to make him a monster, but not enough to take away the fact that he was a man. When he first saw her, his instinct told him to claim her as his own, to fuck her against every surface of the Gard in 500 different positions. His sister came in bound like a slave, a slight thing with a messy head of crimson curls, porcelain skin, and tear streaked cheeks. She looked like a doll, and he couldn't wait to play with her. Of course, someone who is as nefarious as he would want to fuck his sister. To kiss her, to touch her, to sheath himself in her, to make her bleed. The demon caught her studying him, appraising him with wide emerald eyes, and he smirked. A flush of red stained her cheeks as she looked down, shielding her face from his view. At this, he frowned. Never should she hide from him. His sister was brought closer, and at this proximity he was able to study her more intently. She was petite and had the fairest skin, albeit dotted with freckles, perfectly smooth and seemingly soft as well. He watched his father remove the tape from her mouth, and was pleased to see a full pink pout underneath. Her purity was all but written on her face, and Jonathan decided he wanted to be the one to corrupt her, to see the light of innocence steadily depart her eyes over time, only leaving behind the signs of his wickedness. He would harden her, make her strong enough for a place by his side. Suddenly, Jonathan found himself realizing that there was another life he wanted to protect besides his own: his sister's.

_ Soror mea_, he thought. _You will be mine._

-xxx-

Once his father was done terrorizing Jocelyn and sent both women to their rooms, Jonathan discretely followed the man who was taking Clarissa to her room and made a note of its coordinates for later. As the man locked the door to prevent her escape and walked down the corridor to his own quarters, the demon quietly stalked him and cornered him. He didn't put up much of a fight at all, but no one ever could against him. Jonathan made sure to hit him hard enough in the spine to immobilize him from the neck down and used a dagger to cut off his tongue, quieting any screams. He usually enjoyed hearing his victims beg for mercy, but he didn't want his father to know of his indiscretions. The more he thought about it, he decided to let the man slowly choke on his own blood rather than cut him all up. It would be too quick. His sister's captor was a hare, and Jonathan enjoyed watching hares bleed. He smiled, stepping back to relish his ministrations. A similar fate would befall on anyone else that touched what was his.

-xxx-

After quickly disposing the body of his victim, he made his way to Jocelyn Fairchild's residence. It wasn't difficult to find her, her screams and curses could be heard from from every corner in the Gard. His father had been trying to "calm her down" for the past few hours, and Jonathan could see that his efforts were in vain. Valentine had to tie her down to the bed post to prevent her from further destroying her room in anger. When Jonathan entered, Jocelyn looked down, ashamed that even now her instincts denied that he was her son. Her heart had never acknowledged it when he was a baby, and now more so that he was a man. His eyes were cruel and unrelenting, and Jocelyn knew he was not here to reunite with his long lost mother.

"Why are you here?" She asked, looking away.

His smile was wide, but not pleasant. "Can I not visit my dearest mother, who has come to take her place in a family she never wanted?"

"I loved Valentine, and I loved you-"

"_Quiet_," Jonathan demanded, his smile now gone, replaced by his hatred for her. "I am not an ignorant boy, you cannot coddle me with sweet lies and expect me to forgive you for abandoning me. To be frank, father's infatuation of you is the only reason you are here. If it were up to me, I'd feed you to the demons that roam in the night. I recommend you started obeying him, or he just might take my suggestions into consideration." He smiled again, turning on his heels and began to exit out the door, but before he closed it he said, "I'll tell Clarissa you said hello."

His laughs echoed in the hallway as he locked the door, delighted by the sobs that could be heard from the other side.

-xxx-

The only time that the door of her prison opened was when the maid brought her meals and took back the used dishes. The door opened six times a day: twice in the morning, once in the afternoon, and another two in the evening. Clary only ever looked upon this maid once out of curiosity, but she ended up wishing she hadn't. She had an appalling scar that ran from her forehead to her chin, a tell tale sign of the war that had transpired not too long ago. The wound was fresh and jagged, several needles etched into it to hold her face together. After the sight, Clary couldn't stomach the food that was brought to her and did not eat that night. When the maid returned to pick up her dish, she avoided looking at her again, but failed. At seeing her untouched food, the maid smiled apologetically and left.

It brought Clary to tears.

Her father was a monster, and her brother just as well. They needed to escape soon, and she began to formulate a plan how. The desk where the maid placed her food was passed her bed. She would pretend to sleep, and just as the maid would set the food down Clary would make a run for the door, locking the maid in and then attempt to find her mother, which would be the most challenging part of it. She had no idea where her mother was, except that she was taken to the opposite hallway from hers, so she would let that lead her and from there she would check every room if she had to. They _had_ to leave. Once found, her mother would know what to do next. She was probably waiting for Clary to make a move. There was no time to ponder over the possibility of getting caught, or of what they would do if they did.

When the morning came, Clary hid under the covers so the maid wouldn't notice her in full outerwear. Her heart pounded loudly as the door opened, and a figure emerged and crossed her room, gently placing the dish on the table.

It was now or never.

Clary flipped the covers off and ran to the door. It was so _close_, she went to grab the knob to pull the door open and-

She was grabbed by the shoulders and roughly pushed back against the very door she was trying to exit. Her head banged hard against the wood, disorienting her for a few moments before looking up.

Black clothes, a masculine chin, a wicked grin, defined cheekbones, and blond hair falling over bottomless onyx eyes.

_Definitely not the maid._

"Hasn't anyone ever told you that it's not wise to bite the hand that feeds you?" Her brother said, his large hands tightening around her tiny shoulders.

Clary winced at the contact, "I didn't know that hand would be you."

Jonathan laughed, his fingers gently rubbing her shoulders. She tried to maneuver out of his hold, but he was strong and she couldn't get away.

"No, I suppose you wouldn't."

"Will you tell father of my attempt to escape?" She asked, the fear of getting caught finally seeping in. Would the chain her up? Would they tie her to a chair? Would they put her in a cell? Her heart started to speed up again, and Clary was worried he would hear it. She forced herself to calm down, closing her eyes and taking deep breaths. If she were to be punished, she would do so with dignity and not like the frightened little girl she was when she first got here. She would be brave and strong, like her mother.

Jonathan seemed ponder it before finally deciding. "I won't tell him, but I expect a boon in return."

Clary narrowed her eyes at her brother. "What could you possibly want from me? I have nothing to offer you."

He villainously smirked, "A kiss on the lips, and nothing less."

She is _revolted_. Not only is he a merciless monster, but he wants his own sister to kiss him. There's only one answer to his request.

"Only when hell freezes over!"

His smile never faltered. "That day might come sooner than you think."

Clary sneered, _"Never." _

He shrugged nonchalantly and let her go. "Have it your way. I guess I'm just going to have to tell father of your betrayal. It's a shame, really. He was hoping he wouldn't have to chain you up just like your mother, thought you believed his cause to be just, and were willing to cooperate with us but.. The world is full of disappointment," he smirked again, moving to open the door and leave, "Now that I think of it, I'd love to see you in chains..."

She paled, the prospect of being that helpless again scared her. Clary would never be able to escape this place. In a sudden burst of adrenaline and poor judgement, Clary grabbed him by the arm and pulled him towards her. She looked up at him, at his mouth, and instead of thinking about him as her brother, she thought about him as just another attractive boy. Taking his face in her hands and standing on the tips of her toes, she closed her eyes and met her lips with his. His mouth was like soft velvet against hers, and just when she was about to pull away, his hands found the back of her neck and the small of her back, thrusting her against him. Jonathan kissed her hard, his lips relentless and rigorous on hers. With his tempting lips and his toned body sensuously pressed against her softness, it was easy to forget that he was her brother, and that he was evil and manipulative and that she hated him. Clary had never kissed a boy before, and the feeling of it made her never want to stop. Heat pooled in her tummy, and she grew needy for more. She ran her hands up his chest, feeling the power of every muscle underneath her fingers, and brought them to entwine in his colorless hair, pulling at his locks viciously as he coaxed her mouth to open, his tongue invading her wet cavern and prodding at her own tongue with his. Clary gave in, their tongues fighting a battle that could never be won. Jonathan pushed her against the wall without releasing her lips, his legs moving to stand between hers, his thigh brushing against her center, a delicious friction that made Clary want to scream for more of it. But she couldn't have more of it, because he was her brother.

It was like a bucket of ice cold water had been thrown over her head.

_ Brother._

Her fingers left his hair and her hands braced themselves on his chest to push him away, but he was greedy and continued to kiss her, his tongue caressing hers. With no other option, Clary took his bottom lip between her teeth and bit down as hard as she could, the unfamiliar cooper taste of his blood on her tongue. Jonathan slowly released her then, running his thumb across his lip and staring down at the blood that stained it. She shrunk in fear of him striking her, but he licked the blood off his thumb and grinned at her. He had that naughty glint in his eyes again, and Clary suspected he was planning something _evil_.

"I hope I see that fierceness in training tomorrow, _sister_." Jonathan opened the door, the grin never falling off his face as he looked back at her, closing and locking Clary in her room.

-xxx-

Walking down the hallway, he whistled a happy tune.

_ A garden locked is my sister, my bride; a garden locked, a fountain sealed._

* * *

A/N: Well, this monster is 2,296 words and took me about a week to write because of school and my procrastinating muse. Forgive me for any mistakes, I only read over it once and I probably missed some. So, in this chapter, we get a look inside the mind of Jonathan. i had a lot of difficulty writing him - I had to rewrite the whole entire first part of this chapter because I felt like he was out of character. I hope he still isn't, and that you all like as I made him to be. I imagine you all enjoyed the kiss as much as I did. I was silently screaming as I wrote it. It seems like Clary isn't as innocent as she seems, hm? Don't forget to review! Tell me what you think, whether it's good or bad, I want to know! Thank you to all those who have reviewed, I am honored to entertain you, lol. To answer a question, The Lightwoods are probably not going to make an appearance in this story, but I know one fabulous warlock who might! ^.^ Until next time.


	4. Hostility

CHAPTER FOUR - HOSTILITY

* * *

"Are you Lucian Graymark?"

"Actually, I go by Luke Garroway now."

The warlock smirked, his cat eyes flickering with amusement. "I'm guessing you wanted to leave behind your shitty Circle reputation?"

Luke bowed his head. _Yes. _

"I'm sure by now you are aware of the current situation?"

"Valentine has taken over Idris."

At the mention of the man, angry crimson sparks of demon magic hover over Magnus' hands.

"He has killed several, including someone who meant very much to me." The sparks ceased, but a shadow hung over the once vibrant Magnus Bane. Luke had never met him before, but Jocelyn had mentioned him a few times over the previous years. Although he was against it, Jocelyn insisted on protecting Clary from the past and keeping her mundane. With Magnus' help, Jocelyn had been able to blind Clary from the Sight. But the presumed dead Valentine was alive, and Luke knew that Jocelyn and Clary's disappearance was his doing. His love for Jocelyn was borderline obsessive, and he would never let one of his experiments slip from his grasp.

"He has Jocelyn and Clary."

"So I heard. Must be one big family reunion. I'm sure they're all very, very happy."

Sarcasm dripped from the warlock's voice. Despite the situation, Luke can't help but give him a sad smile.

"They went fighting. Their apartment is absolutely destroyed."

"And you are here because you want them back."

"Yes."

Magnus raises his hands nonchalantly. "How exactly do you plan to do so?"

"I'm going to kill Valentine Morgenstern."

"Get in line, wolf. There's a bounty on his head. _Everyone_ wants to kill Valentine Morgenstern."

"I know of your rebel forces. I want to aid you."

Magnus scowled, "No one can keep a secret anymore. How upsetting."

"My pack and I will help you. The only thing I ask for is the safety of Jocelyn and Clary."

"They will not be harmed," He grinned, his hand coming down to rest on Luke's shoulder.

"Welcome to the team, Luke Garroway."

-xxx-

All at once, he was everywhere. His lips on her skin, his hands at her hips, his being flushed against hers. He was faceless but familiar, her body pulsing at his every caress. Her heartbeat erratic and her breaths were heavy. He was the sun on a winter's day, she needed his warmth like she needed to breathe. He was a paradox in all ways: His touches were tender, but strong. His mouth was fire, quenching a thirst she never knew she had. His eyes met hers, and in his obsidian irises was her twisted reflection. She was wanton and greedy, and she couldn't get enough of Jonathan.

Clary woke with a start; gasping for breath, pressing a hand to her chest to calm the rapid beating of her heart.

_ It was just a dream,_ she tried convincing herself. _It wasn't real. _

Childishly, she looked around the room for his presence, and was pleased when she found none. From the beneath the heavily draped windows, Clary could tell that it was the early hours of the morning. She was still drugged from sleep, but she knew she'd never be able to go back to sleep after that nightmare. Since her encounter with her brother yesterday, she simply couldn't keep her mind off of him. Just a week ago she never knew she had a brother, but it didn't change the fact that they were related and that they kissed. Fiercely. She was so stupid, what the hell was wrong with her? How could she have let it get so out of control? No matter how hard and long she brushed her mouth, she was not able to get the sweet taste of his mouth off her tongue, nor the bitter taste of his blood from her bite. Clary was utterly disgusted and horrified with herself, making a promise that something like that would never happened again. No matter how much he threatened, she would not give her brother the satisfaction to see her stoop so low, to see her so weak. After twisting and turning in her bed for the last five minutes, Clary decided that maybe a shower would help her cool her down and clear her thoughts.

She hoped off her unnecessarily ginormous bed, the hardwood floor cold against her bare feet. Making her way to the large glass incased stall, she turned on the head and stripped her nightgown off as she waited for the water to heat. The bathroom was made entirely of a dark green marble, and the color was so pretty and the texture was so fine that she found herself touching the tiles in appreciation. It had always been her and Jocelyn - they made a small income, and had always lived in tiny, but quaint, apartments. She was not used to luxury, and she could not help but notice the expensive details put into her living quarters. The mirror over the counter was large, and as she looked at herself she began to point out her flaws. She was very pale, and covered in freckles. Unlike her mother's porcelain skin and womanly body, Clary was short and her body was similar to that of a nine year old girl's. She always tried to avoid the reflective glass as often as possible, not really caring about her appearance and usually leaving her hair a tangled mess. Glancing over her figure, she noticed there were large, purple bruises on her hips - looking strangely like the imprints of fingertips.

_ Had he really groped me so hard?_ Scowling, Clary turned to the shower, stepping under the steaming water falling in streams from the showerhead.

_There is nothing to grope._ The sweet smell of the vanilla of her shampoo eased her troubles away, and for once in the past few days, she was at peace.

-xxx-

As soon as Clary had stepped out of the bathroom, she noticed the maid with the revolting scar on her face was standing beside her bed, seemingly admiring the black clothes that she had undoubtedly put there. She looked up to Clary, who shifted uncomfortably under her stare as she stood in all her naked glory in nothing but a fluffy white towel. The maid smiled at her, and Clary's heart sank to her feet. She realized that at some point, this woman had been very beautiful. Now noticing everything but the scar, the maid had a sweet smile. Her hair, although cropped short at her shoulders, was ebony and thick and Clary couldn't help but wonder what if would look like grown out. She was very much taller than her, and with curves to die for. If her face hadn't been so distorted, Clary would've been jealous of her appearance.

"Master Jonathan has requested I help you dress for your training session this morning." The maid said master with a spat, and Clary was comforted with the fact that at least she wasn't the only one to hate her brother.

She frowned. "I think I can dress myself."

"I just do what I am told, Mistress."

Even though she was angry at her brother for such a ridiculous request, she did not want to take it out on the maid, so Clary let the poor woman dress her without hassle. The clothes were a bit difficult to get in to, but with help she was able to get in to it without too much trouble. The "shadowhunter gear", as the maid called it, was entirely black, and she noted it was similar to the ones Valentine and Jonathan wore. It had a bunch of pockets and hooks for weapons and other amenities. Clary thought she looked ridiculous in it, but the maid mentioned it was tailored for her to perfectly fit.

"Master Jonathan wants you to meet him in the training room shortly." Clary rolled her eyes, the calmness she had attained during her shower suddenly gone.

"And how exactly does he expect me to be there when I have absolutely no idea where it is?"

The maid pursed her lips, her expression thoughtful. "I can escort you if you'd like."

_Translation: I will be taking you, just in case you have any funny ideas about escaping._

"Thank you..." The redhead turned, her expression apologetic. "I'm afraid you've never told me your name." Though Clary assumes she has been through torture and plenty of other horrors, another small smile graces the tall woman's lips. She was not much older than herself, but Clary could see a wisdom and determination in her sky blue eyes that she was sure she'd never be able to achieve in her lifetime.

"My name is Isabelle."

-xxx-

"You're late, sister."

Clary strode into the training room with her head held up high. Isabelle had dropped her off after getting a quick snack in the kitchen for breakfast, but she nearly stood outside the door for five minutes, trying to grow the guts to face Jonathan. He was crouched gracefully on a steel pole ten feet high off the ground, sharpening a blade with another all while maintaining his balance on the tips of his toes. Clary crossed her fingers, hoping that he'd slip and fall to his death.

"You never gave a specific time." To look as menacing as possible, she crossed her arms and narrowed her eyes at him in a glare. "So are you going to teach me something, or are you just going to stand there playing with your toys?"

Jonathan grinned at her, suddenly stopping his ministrations. In the blink of an eye, he threw the blade at her head, missing her only by an inch. Clary stepped back in fear, her eyes widening and a silent scream choking her throat as the knife wheezed passed her.

"First rule: Don't taunt someone with a weapon in their hand."

"You missed!"

He raised a brow and jumped off his perch on the pole, making no sound as his feet touched the ground. "Sweetheart, if I had really wanted that to hit you, it would've."

Clary huffed, eyeing the knife that was lying on the floor a few feet away from her. She looked back at him, wondering how fact she'd have to be to grab the knife and throw it at his head and not miss-

"Second rule: Don't reach for a weapon when your opponent already has one at their disposal."

Exasperated, she threw her hands in the air. "Then how am I supposed to fight when I've lost my weapon?"

"Easy. Don't lose your weapon at all."

He nodded his head towards the knife he had thrown to the floor. "Get it and attack me."

She ran to the blade, picking it up and coming at him as fast as she could. For a quick death, Clary decided to aim for his throat to slice it open. She was so sure it was going to hit its mark, he was definitely not expecting her to attack him so strongly. But just before the sharp edge made contact with his throat, Jonathan grabbed her wrist to halt the moving weapon. She moved to punch him in the stomach, but his blade was coming down to hers before her fist could get to his. The butt of his knife drove into her gut harshly, making her bend over in pain. She supposed it was better than getting hit with the sharper edge, but that didn't make it hurt any less.

"Third rule: Never leave yourself undefended when launching an attack. Never give our enemy the window of opportunity to turn your attack into theirs." His tight grip on her wrist made her drop her knife, making a clang as it hit the ground. "That would've been a fatal blow, had I used the actual blade."

Recovering from his hit, she kicked hard at his shin. He released his hold on her, but he appeared unaffected by it. In fact, he looked quite bored with her.

She rubbed at her wrists, stepping back a few feet from him and looking anywhere else. The room was spacious and open, only a few contraptions stationed to train agility, strength, and balance. There was a long wooden narrow table on the side, filled with an array of different weapons ranging from the size of her to the size of her thumb. Every blade was unique in its own way, but there were some that stood out from the rest. Clear, jagged blades that looked even more deadly that the rest. They seemed to glow and thrum with a dull light, almost as if they were alive. She reached for one, amazed by the strange, intricate design they held. Tracing the mark on the sword's handle, Clary noted that the markings were similar to the ones on her father and brother's skin.

"Seraph blades." Jonathan stated, taking it from her hands. "Made from adamas crafted by the Iron Sisters. A blade used to destroy demons, emitting heavenly fire and effectively scorching anything that it comes into contact with. Each Seraph blade is given an Angel's name, and to activate the sword to its extent you must call its name." He put it back in its place, picking up a similar but smaller looking object made from the same material as the former. "This is a stele. It is used to draw powerful runes onto a shadowhunter's flesh to protect them and make them stronger."

Jonathan held it out to Clary, and as she took it in her hand he grabbed his black shirt from the hem and quickly pulled it off his head. She fought the urge to close her eyes at his nudity, but then realized what he was trying to show her. The skin of his chest and arms was covered in the so called runes and several other scars, dipping all the way down to his pelvis. His fingers reached up and pointed to a grey rune over his heart.

"They fade after a while, some sooner than others. There are a few that never fade though. Runes can only be applied to shadowhunters, if it were applied to anyone else, it would have dire after effects." He didn't bother putting his shirt back on, throwing it in a messy rump on the weapon table. Plucking the stele from her hand, Jonathan shoved it into his back pocket. "You're not ready to use it yet. Once you study them, you'll be able to Mark yourself, as well as others."

"Runes make you stronger?" Clary inquired, her persistent curiosity overpowering her hatred for him.

"Runes can give you any ability you wish to have, whether it be strength, agility, balance, speed, or silence."

Inwardly, she smiled. Perhaps she could use a stele to her advantage.

"Hodge will be your intellectual tutor. I am extremely impatient with books."

-xxx-

After another similar sparring session that ended with her doubling over in pain, Jonathan decided that she had enough physical training for the day. He dropped her off at the library doors, explaining that she'd meet Hodge in a few minutes for the intellectual part of her training. Hodge Starkweather, he told her, was an old friend of her father's, and also knew her mother as well. They, including a few others, were part of the Circle. Jonathan didn't want to elaborate on what the group's activities consisted of, only mentioning that it was created by Valentine and its ideals centered around the dismemberment of the corrupt Clave and the execution of the Downworlders, which Valentine had already told her beforehand two days ago.

"You did well today, Clarissa. I was very impressed." His voice was sincere, but Clary swore she hinted an underline of mocking under it. Jonathan moved far too close to her for comfort, nearly brushing against her as he moved his hands to place on the wall on either sides of her head. Clary was pressed against the wall, with no where to go. Her heart began to race in fear as she realized she was in the same position that she was yesterday.

"I look forward to our next training session tomorrow."

And without so much as a slight touch, he left her, not once looking back. Shaking her head to clear the heaviness that settled over her mind, she shakily opened the door and stepped into the library, surprised that he didn't try to do anything. Except for his harsh training and small innuendos, he had been decent, and had not tried to touch her inappropriately in no way. Clary stopped herself when the thought of him being not so bad after all crossed her mind. No, he was a terrible person. He aided Valentine in the war, helping him kill hundreds and put fear into thousands more. She had been forced by him, blackmailed into kissing him. Jonathan was evil, his father was evil, and Clary was a fool if she ever believed otherwise.

_ I am going to get my mother and I out of here, no matter what it takes. _

-xxx-

Hodge was over twenty minutes late.

Clary wandered off into the library, skimming over a few books as she waited impatiently for her tutor to show. She found a book that explained the origins of shadowhunters, which she already knew. Eventually, Clary found the book she was searching for. The Gray Book recorded every rune that is accessible to shadowhunters, a copy of the Book of the Covenant where Raziel had written the first runes. She flipped through the pages carefully, afraid the ancient book might accidentally tear or break. Being an artist, she easily examined each rune and its ability for a few minutes, burning its description in her memory for later use.

"I see you've already started studying without me."

Clary silently cursed at his terrible timing. Hodge Starkweather was not much of a man - only a few inches taller than her, with graying hair and a wrinkled face. She closed the book, standing from her place on a plush chair.

"I'm sorry."

Hodge shook his head lightly, smiling. "There's no need to apologize. I can appreciate someone who has the will to learn."

He didn't appear as bad as Valentine or Jonathan. Clary held out her hand, and he shook hers without question.

"I'm Clary, but you probably already knew that."

"Yes, of course. You're quite the popular subject around the Gard. Valentine is very eager to introduce you to the rest of his comrades."

She grimaced, hoping she'd be able to escape before that happened. "I'd rather not."

He nodded, as if he understood the position she was in. "You are still not accustomed, after living most of your life as a mundane."

_ Way to state the obvious._

"Well, let us start rectifying that, shall we?"

-xxx-

They were in the library for an hour, studying mostly runes and some information about the abilities of the Downworlders. Hodge made her practice drawing different Marks for a good thirty minutes. Clary didn't mind, but her brain was tired from it all and she was dying to fall asleep, even if on the table she was studying on. Finally, Hodge dismissed her for the day and gave her permission to take the books to her room for further analysis later tonight. Isabelle was outside the entry of the library, waiting for her to finish to escort her to the room. She was utterly silent, not saying a word to her as they walked down the hall.

"Isabelle, were you a shadowhunter before?"

She glared at Clary, a darkness befalling her usual gentle eyes. _"I still am a shadowhunter." _

Clary cringed, regretting asking in the first place. Of course she was a shadowhunter. "I'm sorry, Isabelle. I just assumed-"

"What, that because I am your maid I'm not one? Are they going to take that away from me too?" Her voice suddenly became very small, her eyes drifting to the floor.

Before she though better of keeping quiet, Clary spoke up. "I'm sorry for assuming anything. I'm sorry for even asking. I won't be bothering you with it again."

Isabelle shook her head slightly, and didn't bother replying her.

-xxx-

It was still early in the day, just a bit before supper. Her brain still hurt from all the tedious words she had to go over, but she enjoyed to look over the delicate designs of the runes. She had been laying in her bed for some time now, tracing her fingers over the Marks on the pages. Clary had asked Isabelle to stay with her and help her study, but she flat out refused and told her that she had better things to do. Disappointed in Isabelle's newfound hostility towards her, she tried her best to take a nap, but Clary had a hard time sleeping when the sun was still up, so she had occupied herself with looking over the Book of Gray one more time. There were a few pages she had not really gone over, descriptions of old runes that were no longer in use. But as she turned a page, she noticed there was something odd sticking out from the bindings. It was a small, folded piece of photography paper.

Opening up the folds to see the image, she was surprised to find herself looking at the happy faces of her mother and Valentine and Hodge and a few others she did not recognize. Upon further examination, another person stood out.

A familiar face. _Luke._

* * *

A/N: So, I lied. There is a Lightwood in this story, obviously. I just didn't have the heart to kill Isabelle off. I love her too much. The question is, will there be a Herondale in this story? I guess we will just have to wait and see, won't we? (; How many of you are actually hoping Jace will show up in this story? Be honest, your answer might effect the outcome. Please don't forget to review, and thank you to all those that have. I am extremely sorry for the long wait, school and the holidays and life has just kept me very occupied. My muse hasn't exactly been the most kind, either. Enough complaining on my part. I hope this slightly longer chapter made up for my two week absence. Tell me what you liked about it, what you didn't, and your favorite line. Until next time. (:


	5. Den of Lions

CHAPTER FIVE - DEN OF LIONS

* * *

A harsh voice and unwelcome hands shook her from slumber. Reluctantly opening her eyes, Clary gazed up at Isabelle as she was dragged out of bed. Isabelle was spluttering some nonsense about it being dinner time, a bath, and getting ready. With clothes and all, she pushed the half asleep redhead under the cold running water of the shower, successfully waking up Clary.

"What the hell, Isabelle?" She wrapped her arms around herself to ward off the cold, seemingly impossibly with her clothes absolutely soaked. Clary didn't remember at what point she fell asleep - only that she had and she really wanted to get back to it. Her training session with Jonathan and tutoring with Hodge had unknowingly tired her out. Isabelle still looked angry with her, shoving soaps in her hands and closing the glass door of the shower.

"You'll have time to sleep _after_ dinner. Your presence has been requested tonight." Isabelle snapped, her voice muffled by the glass between them. "I'll be back in five minutes, I've been told to dress you properly. Be ready by the time I get back." With that, she left, muttering something about getting her clothes.

Fully awake now, Clary peeled off her wet clothes and warmed the water. She worked quickly, scrubbing down her body with the soaps she had been giving. They didn't smell as nice as the vanilla ones she had use earlier, instead they reminded her of sultry spices. Clary could think of a million things better to do than sit through a dinner with Valentine and Jonathan, but ever since she got here, everything had been decided for her. True to her word, Isabelle appeared a few minutes later with a fluffy white towel in hand. She silently prepared her for what Clary could only refer to as dinner with the lions, combing through her hair and pinning her curls in a messy, but elegant updo. Isabelle started mumbling to herself as she started on her makeup, something about damn freckles and a perfect complexion. The female shadowhunter did not put pounds of makeup on her face for which Clary was grateful, for she was never fond of the sticky stuff anyways. Instead, she mostly worked on Clary's eyes, using intimidating pencils and feathered wands. When she was done, Isabelle stepped back and smiled, forgetting she had been upset with Clary.

"See, you look pretty."

In Clary's opinion, the eye makeup was a bit much. It made her odd green irises pop out more than they should, giving her a striking appearance. Still, she couldn't help but agree with Isabelle that she really did look.. Nice. Clary smiled back at her, words of gratitude on her tongue, but Isabelle interrupted her before she could thank her.

"I saw no need for foundation since your skin looks fine without it, and blush - your cheeks are always red half of the time anyways, so I figured it'd be best to go without. Now, come on. It's time to get you into your dress."

Clary frowned, blood rushing to her cheeks over Isabelle's words. "Dress?"

Leading Clary out of the bathroom, Isabelle walked over to the bed where a very small black dress lay. "Yes, dress. You've seen one before, yes?"

"Obviously, but a dress for a dinner? Look at that thing, I might be small but there is no way my thighs are going to fit in that."

"I guess it's the moment of truth now, isn't it?

" Clary had been right about the dress being too small. It was tight everywhere, hugging curves she never knew she had and accentuating her tiny waist. She found herself trying to pull down the hem as much as she could, but it only came down to mid thigh. The obsidian dress was silky, with thin straps and a low back. Wearing it certainly made her very uncomfortable, it would have been worn better on someone with much more confidence than she had - and a lot more _assets_. Still, it didn't look so bad on her, but she could've done without looking like an escort. To top it all off, Isabelle insisted on death traps for shoes, but even with heels on Clary was not much taller than Isabelle, who was without.

"I can't walk down the stairs in these things."

"You'll have to, you can't wear that dress without heels." The black haired girl rolled her eyes, smoothing over nonexistent wrinkles on the stupid dress.

"Then how about I not wear a dress at all?" Clary retorted, her fingers itching to pull at the zipper on the back.

"That can be arranged." A cold voice rang out, suddenly making his presence known. Clary jumped unconsciously, looking back to watch as her brother made his way into her room, his hands in his pockets and a smirk on his face. He was effortlessly dressed in an elegant white long sleeved button down paired with contrasting onyx pants tailored to perfection, his hair unruly and untamed as usual. "I'd rather have you without it."

"I guess it's staying on then." Clary huffed, crossing her arms across her chest in an effort to hide herself from him. "Will you get out?"

Jonathan grinned, amused by his sister's stubbornness and innocence. He shook his head, his feet bringing him closer to where his sister and her maid stood. "I've been asked to accompany you to dinner."

"Isabelle can take me."

At the mention of the girl, Jonathan's eyes narrowed at Isabelle, who flinched under his gaze. "Leave."

Without question and quite quickly, she scampered off, leaving Clary alone with her malevolent brother. Knowing when a battle was lost, she let Jonathan take her arm and lead her away. Clary said nothing, but internally she screamed in revolt over his touch. Even with the fabric of his shirt separating their skin, his closeness was like a searing brand that made her want to pull away and run as fast as she could in the opposite direction. Her mind betrayed her, the memory of their kiss suddenly coming back to her. She remembered his kiss, how hard his lips had been against hers, how she had wanted more. The wrongness of their proximity, his inappropriately lewd comments, his seeming way of being pleased with himself, set her aflame. It made her want to slap him across the face, but she would be lying if she said she didn't fear the repercussions of it. She knew that he wanted her, but she also knew that she was not safe from his wrath. In fact, Jonathan might actually enjoy watching her pain, being the sadistic monster he is. Clary glared at his stupid grinning face, putting on her best_ I_ _hate you_ face, but she didn't know what in the seven hells caused her to say what she said next.

"You will never have me."

Jonathan, who had been keeping his eyes focused in front of him, turned his eyes to her as he raised a brow. "What makes you so sure of that?"

"I despise you. You want me even though I am your sister, and it is disgusting. You will never have me, because I will never let you."

Jonathan kept on walking, while a smirk danced on his lips. "Considering how.._ responding_ you were the other day to my advances, you're all talk. I imagine it'll only be a couple of more days before you fall to my charms and land on my bed."

Clary halted, her heels screeching against the marble floor as she came to a stop. Then she did the thing she told herself she wouldn't do. She brought her hand up and slapped him across the face, hard and fast enough for him not to catch her beforehand. The sound of her palm striking his cheek was loud in the empty hall, his head snapping to the side as it made contact. The realization of what she had just done made her step back, preparing herself for a blow that never came. After several agonizing moments, instead of attacking her like she thought he would, Jonathan began to laugh. Carefully, she opened her eyes to find her brother doubled over in laughter, his usually sharp features softened. He wiped escaped tears away from his eyes, a red mark resembling her hand on his cheek a reminder of what she had done. Clary had assumed he would have been furious with her, instead- she didn't know what to think of it. He was _happy_ she had hit him?

"Clarissa, my little freckled spitfire, what will I do with you?" Jonathan donned a sardonic smile, his arm encircling around her waist bringing them close with space enough only for a sheet of paper. He brought his hand to rest against her cheek, his finger absentmindedly tracing her freckles. "Why would you strike your poor brother so?"

Clary braced her hands against his chest, willing him to let go of her. "I've had it with your snark ass comments, Jonathan. Now let me go."

A cruel glint crossed his eyes as he held her close, her soft body melding against against his. "No, I don't think I will."

"So help me God, if you don't let go of me_ right now_ I will-"

"You'll what? Strike me again? You're hardly in the position to do so." She suddenly realized she was trapped, her hands resting against his chest and her arms allowed to only go as far as their bodies were - which was not very far at all.

"What will you do now, little one?" He said tauntingly, his face leaning in close to press his cheek against hers, his breath tickling her ear. "You've got yourself into quite the precarious situation."

She smiled to herself, remembering that her arms were not her only weapons. She silently thanked Isabelle from her insistence. "Not completely precarious."

Clary slammed her heel as hard as she could on Jonathan's leather clad foot. His arms released her, but he did not keel over in pain like she expected. Jonathan grimaced, but the expression was quickly replaced by anger. His fingers dug viciously into the soft flesh of her arm, pulling at her hard to lead her away again, steering her in the direction of the dining hall.

"We are late." Jonathan spoke through his teeth, and Clary reveled in this small triumph. This time, she had won. And she would make certain that it wasn't going to be the last.

-xxx-

He was going to fucking kill her. No, really. It took every inch of his non existent self control to not wrap his hands around her pretty little neck and suffocate her. The prospect of her death was not as endearing as it should be, which only made him angrier. This little girl practically skips into his life and suddenly, all of his training to be absolutely emotionless goes to shit. What was it about his sister that he desperately wanted to keep? Her anger and her hatred of him made him only want her more. Her slap had been amusing, but he would not stand for defiance much longer. Jonathan was confident he would have her falling into his arms soon enough, but he was not sure if he wanted to wait so long for her resolve to crumble. He had no objections to taking her by force, but he thought it would be so much _sweeter_ to have her wanton and needy under him. Regardless of his overbearing urge to protect his little sister, he was more than ready to fuck her. If he were to take her now, she would hate him, even more than she does now. Perhaps, with time she would eventually grow the need to have him inside her, then she would come to him. Jonathan didn't think his poor cock could take it anymore, to not have something he so desperately wanted right in front of him with no one to stop him from taking it but himself. That little number she wore nearly made him explode in his pants. If it hadn't been for the maid, he probably would have ripped it off of Clary right then and there and fucked her until she was his whore. He shook his head to clear his thoughts - the last thing he needed was for the old fucks to see his raging hard on. As they entered the dining room, his father seemed to brighten as his eyes landed on Clarissa. She was a vision, and like this she probably looked like Jocelyn had in her younger years. Valentine's smile instantly dropped as he noticed Jonathan's possessive arm wrapped around her. Jonathan knew his father was no fool to his intentions towards his sister, and knew better than to stop him from getting what he wanted. He smirked, relishing in the power he had over his father now. Valentine Morgenstern was a wanted man with a hefty bounty on his head, and he would need more than his demon army and the mortal instruments to protect him against more than a few majorly pissed off downworlders. Jonathan was one of the very few that Valentine trusted - a poor mistake on his part, Jonathan supposed. He had grown tired of his father's rules, and although his father kept him pleased enough he would never forget his harsh beatings. In some ways, he was glad for the marks on his back. They had made him stronger, and reminded him every day to put himself before all others. Regrettably, it would not just be himself, Clarissa, and Valentine this evening. His father occasionally gathered his council for meetings over dinner to discuss what was to be done of the rebel forces and how they were going to execute Valentine's plans for a reborn league of shadowhunters. They had already begun the process of collecting mundanes to conduct experiments, keeping them in the cellars under the Gard like animals. Jonathan didn't particularly care though - to him, they might as well be.

"Clarissa, how kind of you to join us this evening."

His sister moved to sit besides her father and next to a member of the Circle, leaving Jonathan to sit on the other side across from her. He had hoped to sit next to her - certainly the prospect of his hands hidden beneath a table cloth to do as they pleased seemed appealing, but he would just have to improvise.

-xxx-

Clary bit her tongue before mouthing off that she had no choice but to join them, and she'd rather be in a den of lions covered in meat sauce.

"I'm glad to be here, father."

The dining room was a spacious monstrosity - the wall adjacent to the giant table fit for fifty people held four nearly ceiling to floor windows in an antique setting. On the other side of the table was a grand fireplace large enough for a person to fit inside, with wood burning hot enough to warm the entire room. The view from the windows was quite impressive - the Gard overlooked a mountainous terrain from the east side, the mountain peaks already snow capped even though it was early autumn. In her studies, she had found out she was in a country called Idris - the shadowhunter country that with the help of magic, was untraceable by humans. It was located between Germany and France, surrounded by mountains which can only be transversed during the high summer. Meaning there was no way she and her mother could escape without the help of someone who knew how to open a portal. Servants brought in their plates, which were filled with different cuts of meat and vegetables. The quiet chatter of the members ceased as they began to eat, and her father took this opportunity to put her in the spotlight.

"How are you faring with your training? I imagine Jonathan was not too harsh on you, was he?" Valentine inquired, a brow raising in speculation. Clary glanced at Jonathan where he sat across from her, but not far enough for her liking. Noticing her stare, Jonathan winked at her, cutting up the very bloody piece of meat on his plate. She subtly gave him the evil eye before turning to smile at her father.

"Not to worry, father. I know how to keep my brother in line." She looked back at Jonathan with a smirk, the grin on his face wiped off and replaced by a grim expression that told her she would pay for that later.

"That's quite a surprise. Jonathan is not easy to tame." Though she hated her brother, she couldn't help but think it was wrong to talk about Jonathan as if he were an animal. Of course, he had proven to her that he was a monster, but it was still rude to comment on it, nonetheless in front of company. Jonathan, however, seemed unscathed over his father's scrutiny, and Clary could only assume that this hadn't been the first time he'd said something of the sort and would not be the last.

"I'm not easy to tame, but that never stopped you from trying, father." Jonathan's cold voice sent chills down her spine and raised the hairs on her arms. She pushed the food in her plate around, suddenly losing her appetite.

"I never sought to tame you, but to discipline you. As what should be done with all children." Valentine looked expectantly at the other guests at the table, who nodded their heads in agreement to his statement. Jonathan cleared his throat, but resumed to cutting his meat. Their eyes met for a moment, but he looked down to concentrate on his food, clearly not in good humor anymore. Clary had been under the impression that Jonathan and Valentine shared a good relationship, since Jonathan was Valentine's right hand and his heir, but there was angry tension between the father and son duo. An unfamiliar voice to her right startled her out of her musings.

"So, Miss Morgenstern, have you been taken to see the Glass City?" The man who addressed her was as old as her father, with a smile that slightly unsettled her. He looked at her for too long, and she shifted uncomfortably under his gaze.

"Well, when I was brought I didn't get to see much of it since I was directly taken to here." Clary fiddled with her food again, pushing around her veggies like she used to when she was younger to avoid eating them.

"Perhaps, with your father's permission, I could take you with me to see it someday."

"I think that would be a marvelous idea, Gerard. But please do not let her out of your sight, she is like a precious jewel that must be protected at all times." Valentine smiled pleasantly at her, tucking a stray curl behind her ear. She resisted the urge to shudder. "So would you like to go, Clarissa?"

Before she could respond, Jonathan spoke up. "I don't think that would be such a great idea, father. After all, Clary just got here the other day, she is not used to our customs, nor does she know how to defend herself properly._ Anything_ could happen to her." His voice was resounding, as if the decision for her not to go had already been made. Clary didn't particularly care - she was still a prisoner either way, whether she was inside the Gard or outside in the Glass City. Valentine thought over it a few moments, before nodding his head.

"You are right, Jonathan. Maybe another time you could take her Gerard, when she is ready. For now I think it'd be best for her to stay within the protection of the Gard."

The man named Gerard didn't seem to pleased, but had no other choice to agree. "Of course, Valentine. You know what is best, after all."

The rest of dinner passed without causality. Mostly the men spoke of things she didn't understand, so she kept to herself and even ate some of the food. Jonathan made no advances towards her, and she was grateful. Gerard did not speak to her again for the rest of the dinner, which she appreciated considering she had no interest in socializing with her father's followers. When supper ended, Isabelle came to collect her and escort her back to her room. She thought the whole thing ridiculous, she knew where her room was by now. But she'd rather have Isabelle take her away than Jonathan. When they neared her suite, Isabelle stopped and turned to her. Her scar still revolted Clary, but she became used to ignoring it and looking into her pretty sky blue eyes instead.

"Did you have fun tonight?"

Clary rolled her eyes. "Fun is not the best term."

"That bad, huh?" Isabelle grinned, pulling at a thread in her ridiculous maid uniform.

"It was absolutely terrible."

"Listen, Clary..." Isabelle started, her eyes dropping to the floor. "I'm sorry about snapping at you earlier today. You couldn't have possibly known I was a shadowhunter before. I... Lost my family in the war against Valentine. My parents and my brothers. I was spared only because of my name. Everyday I wish I would have died along side my family in battle. An honorable death. But death now would be.. Cowardice. I must live on, just to spite them." She smiled sadly, looking anywhere else but Clary. "I hate your father, and given the opportunity, I would kill him."

Clary bit her own lip, her eyes nervously flickering around for any signs of eavesdroppers. "I would too, Isabelle. You know I was brought her by force with my mother. I never wanted to be a part of this."

"But now that you are, what will you do?"

"I need to see my mother. I need to talk to her."

Isabelle suddenly grabbed her hand and led her down the hall.

"We must be quick then, we don't want to be caught." A mischievous grin graced Isabelle's lips. Clary couldn't help but grin back.

-xxx-

Her mother's room was very far from her own. When they had first arrived and had been taken to their separate living quarters, her mother was taken down one hallway and she to another. Isabelle took her down to the throne room, which she hadn't seen since her first day in the Gard, and led her down the hallway she saw her mother had been escorted. Clary knew the distance put between them was to minimize any chances of escape, but it would not deter her from her goal. So far, she had not hear anything about her mother from Valentine, which made her suspect he was not treating her so kindly. A few days ago, before that incident with her brother, Jonathan had told her Valentine had to chain her mother. It made their escape much more difficult, and Clary didn't know where to start planning. She thought the help of runes would aid her, but they could only do so much for her trapped in this hell and watched all hours of the day. As they turned corners and walked down different corridors, Clary tried to engrave the way back to her room. The last thing she needed was to get lost and for someone to find her.

"Here we are," said Isabelle, using her master key to unlock the door. "I'll leave you two alone. Make sure to lock the door again on your way out."

Rudely, Clary didn't reply and sidestepped her to get inside. Her mother's room was much like her own, albeit a bit larger. For what purpose, she did not know, because she found her mother half asleep on the bed she was chained to.

"Clary?" Jocelyn's voice was hoarse, as if she hadn't had anything to drink in days, which was likely the case. Her natural glow was gone, leaving an ashen and seemingly sickly complexion.

"It's me, mom." Clary blinked away the tears that pooled in her eyes and rushed to her mother's side, pulling at the chains as if to break them. "What have they done to you?"

Despite the situation, Jocelyn smiled sadly. "Nothing I couldn't take."

"I have to get you out of here." Clary said, pulling at the heavy chains again.

"I've already tried." said Jocelyn, tiredly motioning to the gashes on her wrists from pulling her arms. "Idrian steel. Impossible to break, and can only be unlocked with a key. Please... Don't exert yourself." Her mother grimaced as if in pain, and that's when Clary noticed the bruises that covered nearly every inch of her mother's exposed flesh.

"Valentine did this to you." Clary accused, growing to hate the man more and more each second.

"I'm afraid he didn't take me leaving him very well."

"Mom... Why didn't you tell me? How could you keep this all from me?" Clary looked away, not wanting her mother see her cry. "How are we ever going to get out of here?"

Jocelyn stared at the door, her fear of Valentine coming in any second and catching Clary here growing. "Leave, Clary. Before Valentine... Please, go."

Clary shook her head stubbornly, clinging to her mother as if she was a small child again. "I won't leave you."

"You must." Implored Jocelyn, moving away from her daughter as much as she could wrapped in chains. "If they catch you here... Valentine will hurt you."

"But if I leave you here, he will hurt you again."

"It's only a matter of time before Luke finds us... He will get us out of here."

Clary suddenly remembered. _Luke._ "He's a shadowhunter too?"

Jocelyn grinned weakly. "Not exactly..."

"Why didn't you tell me about any of this, mom? This whole entire world... What we are, what's out there... How can you keep this from me?" Clary asked anxiously, picking at the hem of her dress.

"Isn't it obvious? Valentine is a madman. The best thing I ever did was leave him. I don't.. regret being with him, because it gave me you. The only thing I truly regret was not being able to save Jonathan in time." Jocelyn sighed, her eyes meeting Clary's. "While I was pregnant with Jonathan, Valentine fed me demon blood. The blood.. _changed_ Jonathan, so much that when he was born I couldn't even stand to hold him. It felt wrong. It felt like my child had died, leaving a demon in its place. Jonathan blames me for leaving him, for never loving him... but I thought he was dead. If I had any doubt that he wasn't, I would have looked for him. But now.. It's too late." A few tears escaped Jocelyn's eyes. "He hates me."

Clary wiped away her mother's tears, not believing her ears. Her brother.. A demon. It was certainly fitting, but never could she imagined it. Jonathan was part demon, and yet it explained so much. A feeling close to pity arose within Clary. Jonathan couldn't help being what he was. But still, it did not justify his words or his actions.

"It's not that much of a loss, mom. He's a monster."

"Only because Valentine made him one." Jocelyn spat the name Valentine like a curse. "I should have known he wasn't dead. Evil never dies easily."

"It has to." Clary said, kissing her mother gently on her forehead. "I'll be going now. I'll visit you again, I promise."

Words of goodbye were exchanged, and Clary walked away reluctantly. She tread carefully through the halls, listening for signs of anyone before turning a corner. Paranoid, she looked behind her every few seconds to make sure she wasn't being followed. Hopefully, nobody had noticed she hadn't been in her room when she was supposed to. If they had, she would have to come up with some sort of lie to not get Isabelle in trouble. The last thing she wanted was for anyone to get hurt because of her. She was close to her room now, having crossed the throne room without incident, when a pair of hard arms wrapped around her chest, entrapping her. Clary gasped but avoided screaming, knowing without having to look behind her that it was her brother. Turning to curse at him, she was appalled to find that it wasn't Jonathan at all.

"Always a pleasure to see you, Miss Morgenstern." Gerard's hand came to cover her mouth to prevent her crying out for help, his other going to fondle her breast. Clary screamed and thrashed, but his hold on her was too strong. "Perhaps if your brother hasn't been so insistent to keep you in his care, I could have had the chance to woo you first. Unfortunately, things will just have to be the hard way..."

His sloppy mouth left a trail of wet on her shoulder, and Clary thought she was going to retch. He turned her then, forcefully pushing her up against a near wall and trapping her with his own body. "Now, be a good girl and don't scream. If you scream, I will kill you." Gerard grinned smugly, his hand like a hot poker on her breast, pinching at her nipple through the fabric of her dress. He removed his hand from her mouth carefully, expecting her to scream. And she did. She screamed the first name that came to her mind.

_ "Jonathan!" _

Gerard backhanded her, pain radiating from her cheek all the way to her toes. He gripped at Clary's neck, slamming her head back into the wall hard enough for her to see white spots in her vision. "Your brother won't save you, girl."

"This must be a surprise for you, then." Jonathan purred dangerously, standing only a few feet away from the scene, leaning against a pillar nearby. "Gerard, I've always known you were stupid, but I never imagined you to have a death wish."

Gerard turned to Jonathan, an ugly sneer etched on his face. "You think you can take me, boy? I'll have your throat in seconds, and I won't even have to use a knife."

Jonathan grinned wickedly, waving his empty hands. "I wasn't intending on using any weapons either."

Gerard dropped her and moved towards the demon, and she landed on the floor quite hard on her bum. Desperate relief washed over her. Jonathan came to save her. Clary watched as Jonathan and Gerard circled each other like lions fighting over the last piece of meat. Gerard attacked first, which Jonathan easily dodged, landing a blow to Gerard instead. Fists flew so fast Clary couldn't follow or know who was winning and who was losing. Jonathan fought with a grin, delighted by the prospect of being able to kill. With a side sweep of his foot and a flick of his wrist, Jonathan had Gerard on the floor by his neck. Clary thought he was going to choke the man to death, but he did much worse. He dug his fingers into his neck, puncturing the flesh and quickly, but surely, removing the man's throat. Gerard's eyes stayed open as if in shock, but its unmoving glassy texture told that he was dead. At the sight of the blood, Clary heaved, turning her head to look away from it.

"I kill for you, and you look away. You should be delighted the man is dead." said Jonathan, and from her peripheral sight she saw him stand and throw away the throat of the man elsewhere. Jonathan moved towards her slowly, and fearfully, she backed up against the wall.

"You j-just killed s-someone..." Clary stuttered, her hands moving to cover her eyes from the gory scene.

"As I will kill all who dare touch you." Jonathan crouched next to her, removing her hands from her eyes and tucking a stray curl behind her ear, like Valentine had done earlier. Oddly, she didn't revolt at Jonathan's touch like she had Valentine's. Despite the fact that Jonathan killed Gerard, he did save her from the potential rapist. Clary looked up at him with wide eyes, trying to decide on whether or not she should thank him. Jonathan smirked, his arms picking her up gently from the floor and into his embrace.

_"You are mine."_

* * *

Author's Note: Woah, this chapter was action packed and full of Jonathan and Clary (as it should always be!). I'm sorry for such the long wait. I just finished my exams, and I'm officially on holiday. I've actually been writing this chapter since I last posted, writing in bits and pieces and I just finished it. I was really happy to see the responses to last chapter, and have been eager to address the reviews. Firstly, to Jace.. Now, we all love Jace. But his presence in the story, I realized, would not be such a good idea. Even as a romantic rival... I feel like I'd have a really hard time writing a story in which Clary would have to choose between Jace and Jonathan, because I can't even choose between them myself. And going with Clary's frame of mind, she would choose Jace - It would be extremely off character if she didn't. Since this is a Clary/Jonathan fic, and will stay that way until the end, I just think it would be better if I left Jace out of it. But if any of you are interested, I have been meaning to start a Clace story very soon. I just haven't found the right plot yet. Anyways, onwards to other matters - there was a review that mentioned Tessa, and I'm sorry to disappoint you but I haven't read the Infernal Devices. I am somewhat new to the fandom. I read the books shortly after the movie came out in August. I went to see the movie, I had to know what happened next, so I read the books and fell in love. So I couldn't put her in this story even if I wanted to, because I have no idea how her character is or anything. I wouldn't want to write a character that I'm not familiar with. To the matter of Izzy - Yes, she was a bitch. But the important thing is that she apologized and explained why. There will be another Luke and Magnus scene in the next chapter, along with a few other downworlders, shadowhunters, and silent brothers. Rebellion meeting, wooh. Other than that, thank you all for all the lovely reviews. I'm so glad you all are enjoying this story as much as I am. Please don't forget to review again and tell me what you thought of this chapter, I really want to know because it was really fun to write. Tell me what you liked, what you didn't like, and your favorite line. My favorite line was the last one. (; Possessive Jonathan is sexy. Review for more possessive Jonathan! :D


	6. I Own You

CHAPTER SIX - I OWN YOU

* * *

_You are mine, _he had said. Clary knew better than to argue with him as he carried her to her room. She was sore all over, and she was pretty sure she had a concussion from when Gerard had thrown her against the wall. Jonathan's touch used to repulse her, but now, she welcomed it. She told herself it was because she was injured, and she would have trouble making it to her suite on her own, but a _very _small part of her knew that it was because she was grateful he had saved her from rape and possibly death. Saving her had meant the death of another, and even though the hands that carried her were the hands of a merciless killer, she found herself not unsettled by the fact. Jonathan was no hero - that much she knew. He would expect something of her for his kindness, and Clary internally shuddered as she wondered what it would be. Would he try to kiss her again, or perhaps more? He would be no better than Gerard then, the same outcome with a different approach. Still, Jonathan _was _the lesser of two evils. Why would he save her from something he planned to do himself?

_You are mine, _the words were in her head like a mantra. He wouldn't allow someone else to have her, because he thought of her as _his. _His possession. The feminist in Clary was aghast, the prospect of being _owned _by anyone was an existence not worth living, especially if that _anyone_ was her brother Jonathan. Noticing that he had gone quiet, she looked up at him through her lashes. Unlike most of the time, Jonathan's face was stoic - his mouth beheld no smirk, his eyes had no light. He did not look at her, only straight ahead, as if carrying her bothered him - which Clary knew wasn't true. She'd seen his strength and agility, and she weighed less than a feather due to her boyish figure, and she knew that if he hadn't wanted to carry her, he wouldn't have. If Clary was sure of anything, it was that Jonathan didn't do anything he didn't want to, and _always _did everything he wanted to. Nothing held him back from his desires, as if he had no moral code or fear of retribution. Obviously, this came from him being a _demon. _In the books she had read of demons, they'd said that demons were beings who held no emotions. Did Jonathan have emotions? Had she not seen the lust in his gaze as he looked upon her? Did she not see his anger, his rage, his hatred? Does he have fears, has he ever loved another? For the second time this day, Clary found herself pitying her brother. He had been raised by a cold blooded tyrant who only cared about wanting to rule and killing those who got in his way. If their roles were reversed, would Clary be like him? Without every knowing the warmth of her mother, the security of her home, the comfort of her friends? His upbringing didn't justify his actions, but Clary understood - to a certain extent - why he acted the way he did.

As they arrived at her room, Jonathan put her down to open the door, letting her lean against him. Once the door was open, he swept her in his arms again, walking into the room and closing the door with his foot. He settled her down on the bed, then disappeared into her bathroom, coming back with a bowl filled with what appeared to be water and a washcloth. Clary watched him as he sat down next to her, dipping the cloth into the bowl and with the gentleness Clary wasn't aware he was capable of, dabbed at the cuts on her face. He said nothing as the water turned pink with her blood, dipping it again and washing her dirty face delicately. Heavy lidded with exhaustion from the long day she had, Clary nodded off a few times, startling herself every time she came to. Jonathan's features softened as a small smirk graced his lips, nothing like the arrogant grin he usually donned.

"Why are you being so nice to me?" Asked Clary, toying with a stray thread from her comforter to avoid looking up at him.

"I told you already, you are mine. Those that I possess are under my care and protection." Jonathan undoubtedly said, standing up from the bed to place the bowl and wash cloth on her nightstand. He moved to remove her shoes, kneeling down beside her legs to patiently take off the death traps from her feet. His touches lingered far too long for her liking, but she was groggy and she found that she didn't particularly mind his gentle caresses. Clary felt his calloused palms brace themselves on her exposed thighs as he stood up with the gracefulness of a cat. She giggled as the thought crossed her mind. _Jonathan, the feline demon. _

"Dear sister, what are you giggling about?" Jonathan inquired, sitting beside her once more, a steady hand still placed on her thigh.

"You're a _cat _demon!" She answered, overcome with giggles. Clary felt lightheaded and happy, as if the events of tonight hadn't had any effect at all.

Jonathan looked at her oddly, narrowing his eyes at her suspiciously. "Cat demon?"

"Yes! You move like a cat! Cat demon!" Clary screamed with glee, throwing herself back onto her bed. Her comforter was _so soft... _

His palm inched higher on her thigh, slipping beneath her dress. His touch was searing. Clary placed her hand over his, stopping his ascent. "And what do _you _think you're going to do with that hand, _dear brother?_" She mocked his tone. She had always hated when he called her his dear sister.

"Taking advantage of your drugged self." Jonathan stated unashamed, his fingers curling along the inside of her thigh. Her breath faltered as his fingers found her center, gentle caressing her through her panties. All thoughts of decency fled out the window, along with her self control. "Who told you I was a demon?" He asked her in a husky tone that made Clary warm where he was touching her.

"Um.." Clary thought for a few moments, but it was difficult with his fingers teasing her clit. She moved her hips, needy for the right friction. "Mom.. Told me..."

"Ahh, so that's why you were out of your room when I had found you." Jonathan grinned at her, his thumb rubbing circles around her bundle of nerves as a reward. Clary moaned despite herself, her eyes closing involuntarily as his fingers quickened their pace.

"Please.." She pleaded, grinding her hips against his hand again in request. Jonathan shifted to rise above her, moving her legs apart to kneel between them. As her legs parted, her dress rose well above her hips, exposing her completely to him. Clary thought she heard him growl. His digits slipped beneath her panties, and she whimpered as his fingers met her sensitive cunt.

Jonathan felt her up and down slowly, spreading her wetness. He groaned loudly, "My sister is all wet for me..." She gasped as he slipped a finger inside her, "And tight, too..." He thrust both his index and middle finger inside her pussy, rubbing her clit with his thumb. Clary bit the inside of her cheek to keep from screaming out, gripping at her sheets as he thrust his fingers in and out of her in a slow pace. Her body demanded faster, heat pooling at her tummy and wanting release. She felt her wetness drip from her as Jonathan continued his slow ministrations.

"Do you want to cum, baby?"

She nodded desperately, almost whimpered as his fingers slipped out of her completely. That was the _opposite _of what she had wanted!

Not a moment later, Jonathan tore off her panties, bending down and - _she saw stars. _

His tongue lapped up her juices, and she almost came right then. Her hands wound in his hair, her fingers entwining in his locks as she pressed him closer to her pussy. He moaned against her skin, and pleasure rolled over her like a tidal wave as his lips vibrated against her clit.

"You taste like strawberries," he mumbled against her, sucking her nub between his teeth and flicking it with his tongue. Clary exploded with a scream as his three fingers dipped into her again, hard and fast like her body craved all while he savagely sucked on her clit. She rode out her first orgasm, screaming his name over and over until it was done. Her hair had made it out of its' updo, her curls fanning around her like a red halo. Clary breathed heavily from the aftershock of her orgasm, her hands untangling themselves from Jonathan's hair and moving to settle them tiredly besides her. The last thing she saw was his proudly grinning face arising from between her thighs.

-xxx-

Luke was overwhelmed by the curses and cries of the angry Downworlders. Even though Magnus Bane's apartment in Brooklyn was far from small, the presence of several Downworlders who were still considered enemies made the room fold in itself, suffocating those who weren't involved in arguments. Magnus's expression was seemingly calm, almost enjoying the chaos unfold in front of him like a movie. Luke sat directly to his right at the head of the grand table, with Raphael Santiago, leader of the vampires, sitting directly across. Raphael was currently arguing with a representative of the Seelie Queen named Merlion.

"Does your _queen _think us below her?" Raphael sneered in a heavy Spanish accent. "She thinks us unworthy to grace us with her presence?"

Merlion was expressionless, no anger tracing his features or his voice as he replied calmly. "Her Majesty has other matters to attend to in her Court."

"More important than the take down of a _maldito _tyrant king hell bent on killing us all?" Raphael's palms landed angrily on the table, rattling it so hard Luke thought it would break in two. "Tell her_ Majesty _to take her _royal scepter _and shove it up her _royal ass!" _

The fighting continued on, Luke's own werewolves arguing with a few other vampires and Nephilim arguing with all.

Out of thin air, Magnus produced a golden gavel encrusted with what appeared to be diamonds. The arguing ceased as he pounded the gavel loudly against the wooden table. Once everyone was silent, Magnus sighed. "Can't we put our differences aside for _one _day? Let's start dealing with the _real _problem here: Valentine Morgenstern must be taken down. Question is, how? Anyone have any suggestions?" Magnus looked around expectantly at his guests.

A small brunette vampire girl's arm shot up. "I say we drain him of all his blood!"

Every vampire flashed their fangs at the idea. Magnus sighed again in exasperation, running his hand through his glittery hair. "No, I meant how are we going to get close enough to kill him? He cowers behind a demon army. Unless we can get passed them, we can't get to him."

A shadowhunter who appeared to be in his late thirties stood, his chair scraping against the floor. "Valentine has the Mortal Sword. If we were able to take it from him, his demon army would cease to exist."

"How exactly did Valentine get the Mortal Instruments?" Inquired one of Luke's werewolves.

"The Mortal Cup had been hidden for a while. Nobody knew of its whereabouts. In fact, everyone thought that Valentine was dead. We think one of the former Circle members held it in their care, until Valentine was ready to strike. Valentine took the Mortal Sword from the City of Bones here in New York, killing the majority of the Silent Brothers who had been protecting it. The Mortal Mirror's location was unknown to everyone, even the Clave, but Valentine found it and performed the ritual to raise Raziel. What transpired there, I do not know, but Valentine is planning on making a new league of stronger shadowhunters with the abilities of downworlders. After that, he plans to kill every downworlder and make all shadowhunters servants under his command," the Nephilim explained. "We lost many men in our war in Idris. I was one of the few lucky ones to get out alive with my free will intact."

"We need someone from the inside to get the Mortal Sword away from Valentine," said Luke suddenly. "If we could somehow get a message to Jocelyn, perhaps she'd be able to get it away from him long enough for us to attack."

Magnus pondered the idea for a while, turning the gavel around in his hand. "It seems like our only option..."

"There is strength in numbers." Raphael stated, "We storm the Gard, kill the demons, and have someone dispose of the _serpiente._"

Magnus shook his head brusquely. "Too messy. I'll send a message to Jocelyn at once. But if we cannot reach her... It is what we will have to do."

-xxx-

Clary came to slowly, her body reluctant to awake and leave her cozy little haven of sheets. Her eyes fluttered open, and the first thing she noticed was her lack of underwear and the fact she was still in the tight black dress she had worn for dinner. Yawning, she stretched her arms above her head and made her way to the bathroom. Upon looking at her reflection in the mirror, she gasped. She looked like a prostitute! The black eye makeup Isabelle had created so beautifully had run down her face as if she had been crying, and her hair was in no better condition either. Her dress was crumpled, torn at some places and had ridden up while she had slept, the hem falling just below her ass. Turning on the sink's faucet, she let the warm water wash away her makeup and leave her face fresh. After she made sure she was clean, Clary walked to the closet to find something to wear. She had no idea what time it was, but she was tired and wanted to get back to bed. Clary put on the first thing her hands grabbed - a short red silk nightgown with matching robe. Just as she was heading to her bed again, she heard a loud _thump_, as if someone had fallen against a wall. Before she thought better of it, Clary rushed to her door, opened it - it was unlocked? - and looked around to find where the sound had come from. At the end of her hallway, Jonathan was slumped against a wall, pale as a sheet, sweating profusely and face scrunched up in pain. Clary ran to him, momentarily forgetting herself as he looked up at her. When she met his eyes, she faltered, suddenly remembering the events that led up to her falling asleep.

Gerard had tried to rape her, then Jonathan saved her and... Took _advantage _of her? Clary felt angry tears cloud her vision. Oh God, she nearly had sex with her brother! The embarrassment ate at her, and fully prepared to run back to her room and lock herself in there forever, she turned away from him.

"Wait-" Jonathan said suddenly, his voice cracking in the end. Clary had never seen him in that condition before, but she decided not to care. He was her brother, yet he took advantage of her.

_Taking advantage of your drugged self, _he had said.

Clary hadn't even noticed that Gerard had slipped something into her drink, probably to make raping her easier for him. Her arms wrapped around herself to keep from retching.

"Clary-" Jonathan started. Had that been the first time he called her by her nickname? "Would you-" before he could finish, he collapsed unconscious, landing on the hard marble floor. Clary looked back at him, and bit her tongue to keep from crying out. Across his back, were several lacerations that oozed dark blood. What had happened to him? Should she leave him there? Why _shouldn't _she? She stubbornly thought. _He deserves pain. _Her conscience nudged at her, screaming to help him. _I'm doing this out of pity, _Clary told herself. Yet, a part deep inside her that she denied, she knew that wasn't the only reason why.

Ten minutes later, she managed to drag him back to her room and place him on her bed diagonally. Glaring at the bleeding marks that stained her sheets, she knew she had to prevent them from getting infected and wrap them to keep him from bleeding out. Clary tried looking for alcohol in her bathroom, but the best she found was hydrogen peroxide. _It'll have to do. _

Hydrogen Peroxide and a towelette in hand, she knelt besides him and gently tried to clean away the blood. She cringed when his muscles flexed in pain every time she touched him. Karma had gotten the better of her, cleaning him up because he had cleaned her up. She promised herself that when he was better, she could scream and punch him however many times she wanted. Once his skin was free of all blood, she covered his back in the gauze she had found in the bathroom and used medical tape to make sure it would stay on his skin until his back was healed. Now done with his back, Clary disposed of the soiled towel and concentrated on his comfort. She should just leave him like he was, but she felt a guilty twitch in her heart and decided to at least clean his face of sweat and prop his head on a pillow. As she was cleaning his face with a moist towelette, Jonathan stirred, his breath quickening and his dark eyes snapping open. He looked up at her almost tiredly, and her ministrations stopped at once, her hand awkwardly hanging in the air.

"An angel has come to my rescue," Jonathan remarked cheekily, taking her hand in his and entwining their fingers, towel forgotten. Clary moved to remove her hand from his grasp, but even though he was currently injured and had lost a lot of blood, he was still stronger than her and did not let her go.

"Hardly," Clary snapped, her mind remembering what he had done, she was as desperate as ever for him to be as far away from her as possible. "I should've let you bled out on the floor." She said the words, but she knew she would have never done such a thing.

"You wound me so," said Jonathan sarcastically, rubbing his thumb in little circles around her knuckles. "Certainly you wouldn't after everything we've been through." He looked up at her through his long lashes, and Clary felt her heart stutter as she realized he was half naked. _Brother, brother, brother, brother, brother! _

"You mean after everything _you've _done to me!"

Jonathan grinned, propping his head on his hand. "Everything I've done to you, you've liked."

With trouble, she managed to pry her hand from his, standing from her bed to put some distance between them. _Her brother was half naked on her bed. _

"Leave, Jonathan." demanded Clary, opening the door and motioning to the threshold. "I've had enough of your shit for one day."

Pouting, Jonathan sat up and ran a hand through his disheveled ivory hair. "You're not going to make me walk all the way to my room, are you? After all, I _barely _made it here..."

Clary sighed in exasperation, angrily slamming the door closed. _Wolf in sheep's clothing. _"Fine, stay. But if you so much as lay a single finger on me, I'll cut it off."

He raised both his hands and wiggled his fingers mockingly. "I shall use _none _of these fingers to touch you."

"The same threat goes to your mouth, and..." Clary blushed, looking away from him. _I'm not going to say it! _

"Sister, on my honor I shall not use my fingers to touch you, or my lips to kiss you, or my tongue to taste you... But keeping my cock in my pants might be a problem."

-xxx-

One tantrum and ten thrown objects later, Jonathan laid on the farthest side of her bed with his pants where they should be. Once she was done with her nightly ritual in the bathroom, Clary approached her bed cautiously. Tucking herself in and putting about five feet of space between her and Jonathan, she laid on her side with her back facing him.

"How did you get those marks?" She asked, no longer able to keep her curiosity in check. Who was brave enough to confront Jonathan and hurt him? After she saw him fight Gerard, she thought that Jonathan was pretty much invincible. Fitting, since he was part demon and he might as well have been raised by one.

Jonathan hesitated before finally stating: "Valentine."

"He did this to you? Why?" Clary suddenly remembered the hostility between the father and son at dinner. It seemed like Valentine cared for no one but himself, and not even extended kindness to his own son. But this?

"He whipped me for killing Gerard. He didn't like it very much when he saw his friend without a throat and bleeding on the marble floor."

Clary turned to Jonathan to find him staring right back at her. "But he would've raped me if you hadn't killed him."

Her brother smiled - a _real _smile. Not a mocking grin or an arrogant smirk. A genuine smile that quickened Clary's heart.

"Valentine looks for any excuse to punish me. It's something I've grown used to."

Clary frowned, "He hit you when you were younger?"

Jonathan's only reply was a nearly silent snore. For the millionth time today, Clary found herself pitying him again. Jonathan hadn't been so lucky as she, to have been raised by such a loving and caring mother. Instead, his father had been cruel and unloving, training him to be a warrior who only looked after himself. Could Clary blame him, for acting the way he had with her? Just because she understood, doesn't mean it made his actions any less evil. But maybe, _just _maybe, if someone showed him just a bit of kindness, he would come to see things differently. After all, he had saved her and taken care of her after. Clary couldn't stay angry with him...

"Goodnight, Jonathan."

She closed her eyes and dreamt of her brother that night.

* * *

Author's Note: You guys absolutely cannot complain about this chapter. Your first taste of smut! I was having a heart attack as I wrote it. I hope you all found it _satisfying. _Anyways, I was so happy to see your reactions to last chapter! Possessive Jonathan is the best, and I love writing him as much as you love reading him. So, I tried to explain what was going on with Magnus and Luke as best as I could, but too be honest it is the least interesting part of the story for me and was difficult to write. I can only seem to write Clary and Jonathan scenes well. :( I may or may not update again before January 6, when school starts for me again. It all depends on your reviews. The more reviews I get, the quicker I write because it's really the only thing motivating me to. Tell me what you liked about this chapter (although I could take a good guess), what you didn't like, what you think I should improve? Standard apologies for any spelling/grammar errors apply. -Subtly hints at needing a beta- Thanks for all the reviews so far, they make my heart fly like a little butterfly. Don't forget to review for this chapter! Until next time.


	7. Song of Solomon

CHAPTER SEVEN - SONG OF SOLOMON

* * *

Since he was young, Jonathan had always been an early riser, waking the exact moment the sun started to peak out from the horizon. From behind the slightly opened drapes, sunshine seeped through, lighting the room enough for Jonathan to see the sleeping figure beside him. Overnight, his sister had scooted closer to him, wrapping her leg around one of his own, and he cursed the layer that kept their skin apart. In sleep, she looked like an angel more than ever - her eyelashes grazing her cheeks, her hair fanning around her like a halo, and her tender pink pout parted as if waiting for a kiss. Unlike the other times he had been whipped by his father, he had no nightmares last night. The peace of mind Clarissa gave him had shunned all else. She had taken care of him, despite how he had treated her. His sister was truly pure of heart, putting the needs of others above her own, selflessly acting without expecting anything in return. She was light and everything good, and he was dark and everything evil. Before, his attraction to her had been purely physical - the need to possess her body, take her innocence and mark her as his. Jonathan realized now that he wanted to possess her in every way - body, mind, and heart. He wanted to fuck her until she came undone under him, he wanted to be in her every thought, and he wanted her to love him more than anyone else. Jonathan had told her she was his and he meant it - those that touched her would suffer the most painful death he could deliver. If Clary hadn't been there when he confronted Gerard, he wouldn't have let the fight end so quickly. Jonathan was torn between hiding his true nature from her and letting her see the monster he actually was, forcing her to accept him the way he is. But he desperately wanted her, like the very air he needed to breathe. Only a monster would want her that way.

His hand moved on his own accord, his fingers moving to softly trace the freckles on her cheek. Jonathan had searched for a woman who was worthy enough to be called his. Pity that the woman he chose happened to be his sister. No matter - Egyptian royalty used to marry within the family to keep the bloodlines pure. Surely, Valentine would agree, since he was obsessed with creating a powerful new breed of Nephilim...

Clary stirred but did not wake, letting out a small sigh. He felt as if someone had pierced his heart, and he wondered if this is what love felt like. Did he love his sister? Looking at her, feeling her soft skin underneath his hand, Jonathan never wanted to leave her side. With her around, he felt more than he ever had living alone with Valentine. When he first saw her, he had felt lust. Lust was a common emotion for him - after all, he was still a man, and he frequently needed to fuck. Jonathan has considered himself patient, but his sister easily infuriated him. His need for her went beyond lust. She had taken care of him the night before, had cleaned his injures and bandaged him. Nobody had ever given him such kindness. With the absence of his mother and his estranged abusive father, Jonathan had learned to take care of himself, because nobody else would. Clary could be his everything, all that had been missing from his life - a mother, a sister, and a wife. Soon, once he'd rid himself of Valentine, he'll make her his queen as well. Oddly involuntary, he smiled at the prospect of their future together. Jonathan kissed her lips lightly, unable to help himself. He belonged to her, and she belonged to him.

-xxx-

When Clary woke up the next morning, Jonathan was gone. Relief flooded her. He had messed up her night, but at least he's not around to mess up her morning. Now that the effects of the drug had worn off, the events of last night weighed heavily in her mind. She had been sexually assaulted and nearly raped, then her brother touched and kissed her between her legs - and she _enjoyed _it. Clary shook her head, blaming the drug. There was no way that she would enjoy having her brother molest her sober. Suddenly feeling dirty, she stood and walked to her bathroom, fully intending on enjoying a nice long bubble bath. As she waited for the tub to fill, Clary removed her robe and negligee, assessing the damage done to her body. Ugly bruises covered her arms where she had been roughly grabbed, and her breasts were sore from the groping. Though Jonathan had wiped the blood from her face, the injury at her head was crusted with dry blood from when she had been thrown against the wall. Now that the tub was filled with water and sweet smelling bubbles, Clary submersed herself beneath the surface of the water, sighing as an overwhelming feeling of clean washed over her quite literally. Grabbing a loofa and squirting it with an unnecessary amount of body wash; she scrubbed at her skin, willing her bruises and cuts to disappear. She shampooed her scalp, conditioned the ends of her hair, and even shaved her legs. Just when she was about to get out from the cooling water, the door to her bathroom burst open, and through her mirror she saw the last person she wanted to see - Jonathan.

"What the hell? Get out!" Clary screeched, throwing a towel angrily at him. How dare he enter here while she was bathing!

Her brother grinned, catching the towel easily before it hit his face. "Sorry-" He didn't _sound _sorry. "-It seems the plumbing in my bathroom isn't working. Would you mind terribly if I borrowed yours?" He didn't wait for her answer, striding towards her toilet and pulling down his zipper. She averted her eyes and prayed the bubbles covered her nudity.

"Actually, I would mind."

Done relieving himself, Jonathan flushed the toilet, pulled his zipper up and made his way towards her like a predator prowling towards his prey. "I assumed by now we'd be more comfortable around each other," he sat on the edge of her tub, cocking his head to the side innocently. "Considering how I kissed and licked your little cunt until you came, last night."

Clary turned red, squeezing her legs shut at the memory. Her first instinct was to run away and get as far from him as possible, but how could she move fast enough so that he wouldn't see her? Jonathan smirked, his hand dipping into the water and finding her knee. She jerked away from him quickly, accidentally splashing water outside the tub and spreading the bubbles farther out, thinning them. _No, come back!_

"Get out… Please." Clary said through her teeth, wrapping her arms more tightly around herself to avoid his wandering eyes and ward off the chill from the cold liquid surrounding her. His hand found her knee again, now inching up towards her thigh.

"How can I leave when my sister is naked and wet? Tell me, is your body aching for my touch?" His hand moved higher, now dangerously close to her center. "Does your pussy quiver when you think about my tongue?"

She bit her lip to keep from screaming, stalling his hand with hers. "Stop, or I swear to God-"

"There is no God," he suddenly said. "Only monsters and men." Her brother removed his hand from her upper thigh, bringing it up to caress her cheek with his fingers.

"The only monster here is you!" Clary cried.

Jonathan shook his head, a wicked smile on his lips. "No, sister. You're just as much of a monster as I am."

Having had just about enough, Clary pushed him hard enough to make him topple of the edge. Using his fall as a distraction, she quickly grabbed a towel, wrapped it around her and stood, walking away and praying he hadn't seen anything. His mocking laughter behind her told her he had. Clary ran into her closet, locking herself in and bracing herself on the door. Her heart beat erratically in her chest - every encounter with her brother ended the same. He would never let her be, never understand that she doesn't want his touch. Jonathan will never stop, she realized. Clary had to escape before he-

Pathetically, she choked on a sob. It was too much. Her imprisonment here, her brother practically molesting her at every opportunity. She told herself she wouldn't cry, that she wouldn't be that pathetic little girl anymore. Yet she cried until her eyes were red and her nose dripped with snot and her head felt like it had been hit with a hammer. Time wore on, and her hope for escape diminished every passing hour. She missed New York. She missed Simon and Luke. She missed her sketchbook and her comics. She missed _home. _

A soft knock vibrated the door Clary currently leaned on.

"Get dressed, father is expecting us down for breakfast in five minutes."

-xxx-

Walking to the dining room felt a lot like walking to the noose. Unlike dinner, she skipped a dress and traded it for a pair of designer jeans and silk blouse that cost more than her rent. When she came out of the closet, Jonathan looked her over with an analyzing gaze.

"I was hoping to see you in another little dress, sister."

"I'm glad I wore jeans, then." Clary retorted, walking passed him and leaving him to trail behind her. "Let's just get this over with."

Tears now dry, she kept her head up high. She would not let them break her, never submit to their will. They could toy all they want with her, put her in fancy dresses and give her nice things, but she will never be their puppet. At the dining table, Valentine sat alone at the head with a mug of coffee in his hand. As they entered, his eyes landed on her, giving her the same analyzing gaze Jonathan had. For a moment, Clary thought she saw him sneer at her, but it was gone in a flash. Clary decided to sit next to Valentine. The man was horrid, but at least she wouldn't have to worry about him inappropriately touching her. Jonathan sat across from her, his smug expression never leaving his face. What was he up to?

Breakfast was a quiet affair. Valentine and Jonathan spoke amongst themselves, talking about things she didn't understand. She constantly felt out of the loop, never knowing exactly what was going on. Sure, she picked up a few words like _downworlders_ and _experiments_, and she wondered if Valentine had some evil top secret agenda, but his plans for shadowhunters and downworlders didn't concern her. All she wanted to do was leave this place with her virginity intact and her mother. Clary glared down at her disgusting eggs, poking at them with her fork. They made a squish sound on her plate. _Gross. _

"Considering the danger of a future revolution against the rebels, I thought it would be best." said Valentine. It took Clary a few moments to realize he had been directly speaking to her.

"What?"

"I said," Valentine raised a brow, the action reminding her of Jonathan. "That the rebel shadowhunters have teamed up with the downworlders, intent on dethroning me and most likely executing me as well. Do you understand?"

A probable war? Would she be treated treated as an accomplice, just because she was Valentine's daughter? Or would they know the truth, that she was being kept here against her will?

"What are you going to do?" Clary asked, her eyes cast downward. During the revolt, perhaps she would be able to escape with her mother, and Isabelle...

"My experiments are not ready. I cannot use them in the war, but I can use my demon army. In the unlikely case I were to fall, you are to leave with Jonathan and recreate the Morgenstern bloodline, continuing my work."

Shock paused her breathing. Recreate the Morgenstern bloodline...

"If the war is won, the end result will be the same. Your mother is reluctant to have more children, so I decided it would be practical that you and Jonathan marry at the end of the month, and let the inevitable happen." Valentine smiled when he finished speaking, like he had just told a good joke. "It was Jonathan's idea, really. I can't imagine why I didn't think of it before."

Clary thought she was going to lose her breakfast. "M-Marry? But he's my brother!"

"Mundane laws don't apply here. It's how the world began. Adam and Eve's children married each other, as did the Ancient rulers of Egypt to keep the bloodlines pure." The tone in her father's voice told her it was not up for discussion. "It will be a spectacle, of course. I'm calling in the city's best seamstress to measure you and make a gown. The ceremony will be held in the garden and there will be a grand ball afterwards in celebration. I know women enjoy wedding preparations, so I will allow you to participate in choosing the cut of your gown and decorations."

Clary stood abruptly, knocking back her chair. "I'm not going to marry _anyone!" _

Valentine sighed, his finger tracing the rim of his coffee mug. "Well, that's unfortunate. I was hoping you'd agree willingly..." He stood, Jonathan following in suit. Valentine grabbed her elbow, walking her out of the dining room. "You see, you and your mother are not the only ones I brought from New York. New York is very large in population, and I needed a large amount of mundanes for my experiments. The other day, I couldn't help but notice the drawing of a young boy, posted on your wall. Who is he to you?"

Clary struggled against his hold, willing him to let go, but his grip was strong. "Simon, my best friend. Now let me go!"

Valentine _tsk_ed, his hold on her tightening. He was taking her down a dark corridor, stopping at a hefty large door. "I recognized the face, you know. I realized he was one of the mundanes that were brought here for my experimenting."

Clary stopped struggling, his words were like ice, freezing her in place. "You're lying." She whimpered meekly. _Not Simon. _

"Am I?" Valentine asked rhetorically, using a key to open the door, roughly pushing her inside. "See for yourself."

The room held minimal light, an ominous glow coming from the lit torches put against the stone walls. It was damp and hot, the sweltering heat seeping through her skin. Horror sunk in as she saw the cells, filled with sickly humans who looked like they hadn't been fed in days. They were locked in with bars, some of them chained like animals in cages. She walked forward, her feet dragging towards the cell at the very end of the room. As they noticed her presence, they began screaming, begging her for their freedom. Most of them were people her own age. They stuck their arms out through the bars, trying to grasp her. _Help us, please._

For the second time today, Clary felt tears roll down her cheeks. Only a monster like Valentine could be capable of this. When she spotted familiar curls and glasses, she knew he hadn't been lying. She had been a fool to believe otherwise. Simon sat near the bars, his back resting against the cobblestone wall. His skin was slick with sweat and his glasses were crooked and cracked. Bruises and cuts covered him entirely, as if he had just come out of a cage match. His _Made in Brooklyn _shirt and jeans were torn and soiled with blood. He was the shadow of her best friend.

"Clary?" Simon's voice was hoarse, his throat parched from thirst. She knelt beside his cell, her hands reaching out for him from between the narrow steel bars. "You look.. Different."

Clary couldn't help but smile sadly through her tears. "I'm going to get you out of here, okay?"

"Really?" His voice was hopeful. "That's great, the service here is _terrible._" He chuckled at his own morbid joke, before succumbing to a fit of coughing.

Clary felt Valentine's presence behind her. "Poor boy. Hasn't been fed in days. Unfortunately, the experiments can be rigorous and mundanes tend to be sick after they're injected. To preserve their dignity, we only feed them before their body starts to deteriorate from hunger."

"Please..." Clary never begged, even when she was first taken. She had told herself she wouldn't, never give them the pleasure. But this was Simon, her only friend, her _real _brother. She needed to save him. "Please, release him. _Please._"

Valentine smiled cruelly, leaning down to tuck a stray curl behind her ear, which he seemed to like doing. "I will release him on the terms that you marry Jonathan without complaint. Are we in agreement?"

She nodded slowly, like she had just made a deal with the devil, and she had sold her soul. Simon had no fault in this- he was here because of _her. _She needed to get him out of here, even if it meant her own unhappiness. Clary remembered how he was always there for her when no one else was, not even her mother. Sacrificing herself to her brother was the noble thing to do.

"I agree."

-xxx-

Clary had lost track of time when Simon lost consciousness. Surprisingly, Valentine had left her in the dungeon. It wasn't like she could break out Simon without a key. From between the bars, she stroked his curls, like she always did when they were watching anime. Marrying Jonathan was a small price to pay for Simon's freedom, only hoping this supposed revolution happened before her wedding. Her tears ceased after a while. They would do her no good, or help her out of her situation. They only made her seem weak and frail. She needed to be strong - for her mother, for Simon. Her mother had told her Luke would come for them soon, she wished it true. Jonathan would take her to his bed their wedding night and would take her by force if he had to, just like Gerard had intended. It had been his plan all along since he first met her. She was so stupid to believe there was some actual good in him. He was a demon through and through, and he had only cared for her for his own gain. Jonathan was manipulative and cruel just like Valentine. The apple never falls far from the tree.

"Sister," she heard his voice from the far end of the room, entering through the door and making his way towards her. "You've been down here for hours."

"Leave me be," Clary mumbled, grabbing hold of the bars just in case he decided to pick her up and carry her out.

"Enough of this," Jonathan demanded, looming over her with his arms crossed. "The mundane will be fine without you here."

Clary shook with anger. "Fine? Does he look _fine _to you?" Her fingers tightened around the bars. "I'm staying with him."

"Like hell you are." Jonathan's hands enclosed around her shoulders, prying her from the bars and making her stand. Clary struck out; frantically punching and slapping and kicking him wherever she could.

"_Leave me alone!" _She cried, landing a good hard punch to his jaw, his head snapping back at the force. "I _hate _you!"

Jonathan released her, letting her fall back against the bars of Simon's cell. He brought his hand to wipe the dark blood at his split lip, the amusement she had seen earlier today gone, replaced with a malevolent façade. For a moment, she trembled in fear as she waited for him to strike her, but he turned on his heel and walked away, slamming the door to the dungeon so hard it shook the wall. Once again, she was alone with the prisoners, who had quieted after they realized their pleading was not being heard, like those who stopped believing in God when their prayers were not answered. Jonathan had told her there was no God.

She was beginning to think he was right.

* * *

Author's Note: Hey everyone! Sorry for the longish wait. Classes started for me again, which is why it took me a while to take out this chapter. I was so happy to see your reviews! I'm so glad all of you enjoyed the last chapter, haha. I replied to most of you through PM, unless you were a guest. The next three chapters will be fillers, there will be Jonathan and Clary scenes, Simon and Clary scenes, Valentine and Jocelyn scenes, and even Simon and Isabelle scenes because I can't resist, and then will be the wedding! *wedding bells in the distance* I'd like to hear your predictions. (; Also, I'd like to mention to NOT WORRY because this is definitely not going in the Twilight direction (ew). There will be no 'unexpected' surprises here. I just recently figured this whole story out, even the ending. It will be a happy one, which is a first in our little fandom of Clonathan (is that really our ship name, guys? I think we can be a little more clever than that!). Special thanks to Cat (Fangirl703), my wonderful beta who makes my story worthy to read. *worships her* I definitely recommend checking out her Jonathan and Clary stories, because they're amazing! Also, I am currently working on putting out a Clace story. If any of you are interested, I'd really appreciate it if you'd check it out. It should be posted in a couple of days, but the summary is already on my page. It shouldn't affect the updating of this story. As always, please leave a review telling me what you thought of this chapter, what you liked about it, what you didn't like about it, and what you want to see in the upcoming chapters. I take all your opinions into consideration, so please, don't be shy! Thanks for reading. Until next time. (:


End file.
